horrors
by nebulia
Summary: The fate of the world rests in the hands of a girl who has never been anything but a pawn in the plans of others. Dark, morbid, twisted, angsty retelling of Sleeping Beauty.
1. part i: birth

**A/N: **Hey, y'all, long time, no see!

Well, this is it. The NaNoWriMo novel. The product of days and days of angsting and frantic typing, followed by severe editing. I reached the 50K word count line at 6:52 am on Sat. Nov. 26.

So. It will be long, as it was only half done then. I was a little apprehensive about posting it, as the content is...questionable in places. But I am. Deal with the damn content. And I am still editing, so things are subject to change. But enjoy what I have now, and don't forget to review!

**Title: **horrors

**Summary: **The fate of the world rests in the hands of a girl who has never been anything but a slave to those around her. Dark, morbid, angsty retelling of Sleeping Beauty.

**Rating: **A hard R, for language, graphic violence, and all sorts of sexual content. Nothing terribly explicit, but some things could be considered mildly limey. Warnings, in the sexual area for: rape, homosexuality, pedophilia, necrophilia, and incest. If these things bother you, get out.

**Other notes: **This is constantly in the process of editing. I think I've got the prologue pretty much done, but the rest is still pending.

_**horrors**_

_what race of men is this?  
--the aeneid, book one, line 731_

**part i: prologue**

_is a person born wicked?  
or do they have wickedness thrust upon them?_

_--glinda, from the musical 'wicked,' by stephen schwartz_

**birth**

_i want to be dependableM  
i want to be courageous and good  
i want to be faithful so that i can be heroic and pure  
i want to be the friend you can rely on you can lean on and trust  
i want to understand so i can forgive and be willing to love  
--Garbage, "Metal Heart"_

Once upon a time, there was a handsome king and beautiful queen. They led their country with a fair, just, firm hand, and they loved each other with a passion rarely seen. But there was one thing they lacked, a year after their marriage: a child to call their own.

However, the queen soon conceived, and Lady Ariadne Elissa, Princess of Thrace was born.

As all royal children were, the Princess was kept from public sight until the dya of her Naming—the day in which she was given her official name—and her Supporting—the day her closest friends and family swore to care for her, a Season after her birth.

Even only a Season old, Ariadne was beautiful; she had large dark eyes and a shock of curly hair. The heir, Gregor Jason, watched her with something like fascination—this was the first time he'd seen her. Her white gown, the finest silk and lace money could buy, trailed behind her mother. She was enthralling, that was undeniable. Everyone's eyes were on her; there was _something_ that drew them to her, but no one could quite tell what.

The normal ritual vows were spoken: handsome, dark-haired, forty-year-old King Jason and young, blonde, beautiful Queen Elissa spoike the first words, swearing to protect, care for, and love their child until their dying day.

Dark, greasy-haired Gregor was next; swearing to love her and provide her with royal protection as long as he should live, and finally Ariadne's nurse, the teenaged Kelly, finished it off, swearing constant fealty and true fidelity.

The living Priest finished the ceremony, and then they adjourned to the banquet hall for the celebrations.

Queen Elissa, who was at ease in a crowd, went around the banquet hall, talking with _everyone_; from the poorest coal-merchant who couldn't even afford a fine suit to the Duke of Juss, the wealthy merchant-noble with a big stomach and a hearty laugh. Everyone cooed at the baby; her eyes were intelligent, her hands were tiny but strong.

"She'll be an alchemist one day," Elissa said firmly. "She's smart. I can tell. We're going to train her."

The huge doors of the banquet hall flew open.

"Train her, my ass."

Silence descended across the room. Standing there was a woman as pale as the moon. She had white, white skin, silvery white hair, and wore a white dress—like an albino. But two things distinctly set her apart from an albino. Her eyes were white, too—empty, no pupil, no iris, just pure, flat white. And around her neck was a heavy black choker, and hanging from two slender black strands was an upside-down cross.

"A Horror," King Jason whispered.

Horrors were creatures, dark creatures, evil creatures. They knew magic, dark magic, not alchemy, not scribing, not hypnotism, nor any other type of magic- work, and lived forever, if kept alive. They could heal themselves, and could not be killed by anyone, simply put into a stasis or transformed into metal. However, their powers could be removed by the removal of the choker-like necklace around their neck, if they were in a humanoid form, that is. Horrors only sought the destruction of humans. They were evil, the divine enemies of humans and, according to legend, the Saints. Only with the life force of another being could they be made, and only by another Horror.

The Horror laughed. She had a low, melodious voice. "Yes, I am a Horror."

Elissa was the one to speak this time. "How…did you get through?"

She shrugged. "I broke your barrier. It was old. Your alchemist didn't fix it."

Jason turned. "Gregor, fire our alchemist and hire the best one you can find."

"Yes, Majesty." The young man bowed, but did not move, his eyes trained on the Horror as well.

"That girl will not be an alchemist," the Horror said. "She will, in fact, hate alchemists for what they do to her. She has power. She has the power to kill Horrors, to rent them into a thousand pieces. She is, in fact, a Hatutsul, the first Hatutsul in nearly four hundred years."

Elissa gasped. Jason took her hand, his eyes round and startled. "The Hatutsul, Elissa… the Hatutsul…"

"What the hell _is_ the Hatutsul, anyways?" someone in the crowd of people yelled.

Jason nodded his head at his wife. "A Hatutsul…" she began, clutching the baby tighter, "Has the power to kill all Horrors, that is true. There have only been one or two at a time, but they are remarkably long-lived, like the most powerful magic- workers. And they _are_ powerful. They send the power through their hands, like alchemists, but they can kill Horrors. They use power to kill or sometime burn. They can kill Horrors. No one knows how a Hatutsul is trained; the last training center was burnt at the death of the final Hatutsul."

"You've done your math," the Horror said, "But you've forgotten one thing. She will be enticing. Everyone will be attracted to her, to her power. The more powerful—whether in government, strength, alchemy, magic, whatever—the more enticing she is to them. Everyone will be her enemy."

A slow hush fell through the room. Elissa clutched her daughter closer to her chest.

"And why are you here?" Jason demanded. "To take her away?"

The Horror laughed again. "Me? I have no desire to take a baby away from adoring parents. I have no desire to take anything away. I have no power. Why do I care? I thought you should know. Power hungry men will come from all the corners of the earth, attracted to your tiny one, asking for her hand in marriage. But what will be worse than them will be the Horrors. Many try to become the only Horror, or gather into small groups, hoping to annihilate the rest of our race." She paused to let the words take effect. "Mark my words, Thracians. They _will_ attack. And when they do, you'd better hope to high heaven that your alchemists are up to par. If not…" she shrugged. "Kiss your baby doll goodbye."

"How do we know you won't betray us, _Mashanji_?" Jason demanded, putting extra emphasis on the Horror's name. He had recognized her—she did have a singular appearance—she was well known across the continent.

The Horror smirked. "If you know my name, then you know my personality. I travel alone, neutral. I'm not going to use a weak human bitch to better myself." She curtseyed mockingly. "Now, if you'll excuse me…" she turned and vanished.

Elissa turned. "The Horror is right. If Ariadne is a Hatutsul, as she claims, then she will entice the world to her. I will prepare for her to leave. Come, Kelly." She left abruptly, speaking in a low voice to the nurse.

Jason rose, and clapped his hands. They silent nobles and commoners turned to him. "My fellow Thracians," he said calmly, his voice sliding across them like melted honey and silk, "This was _not _a banquet for the birth of the Crown Princess. In fact, it's not a banquet at all. It's a funeral for the little girl. And when I am finished speaking, you will disregard the fact that you are wearing bright colors and will leave. Is that clear?" He smiled sweetly at the crowd, which appeared to be staring at him as if fascinated.

Suddenly the spell appeared to break and the crowd was sober and quiet as they left. Jason turned to his Heir. "Gregor?"

The young man bowed. "So sorry for your loss, majesty."

Jason nodded shortly. "Let's go. We have some paperwork to do."

Gregor bowed again as Jason swept by him. It wasn't until he trailed after the King that he allowed the small smile to cross his face.


	2. part i: battle

**Title: **horrors

**Summary: **The fate of the world rests in the hands of a girl who has never been anything but a slave to those around her. Dark, morbid, angsty retelling of Sleeping Beauty.

**Rating: **A hard R, for language, graphic violence, and all sorts of sexual content. Nothing terribly explicit, but some things could be considered mildly limey. Warnings, in the sexual area for: rape, homosexuality, pedophilia, necrophilia, and incest. If these things bother you, get out.

**Other notes: **This is constantly in the process of editing. I think I've got the prologue pretty much done, but the rest is still pending.

**battle**

_i wish i had a metal heart  
i would not be scared  
--Garbage, "Metal Heart"_

"We don't need to hide her away in the woods, Elissa!" Jason cried desperately almost a Phase later. "The entire country thinks she's dead; we can keep her hidden away here and she'll be just fine!"

Elissa's eyes were fierce. "No. All the plans have been made, and they're foolproof. She and Kelly will go to the Herani Forest. Herani was a Hatutsul; I thought it fitting. They will live there." She turned to a small armoire next to Ariadne's crib, and began loading things into a knapsack. "They'll travel anonymously, with only a few bodyg—"

"No." Jason's voice was hard and emotionless. "No. I will not let my daughter leave."

Elissa glared at him. "Jason, it's safer! For Saints' sake, listen to me! Be—"

She was cut off as a hand suddenly connected sharply with her face. Gasping with pain, she lifted long, slender, white fingers to her face and looked up at Jason, who was now holding her wrist in a death grip.

"Who is the father of the household, Elissa?" Jason said lowly, his face inches from hers. "Who makes the decisions? Who lives with the title of Royal Thracian King?" She avoided his eyes. He grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him. "I do, Elissa. It is my decision and mine alone. Remember that, and don't cross me again."

Elissa's eyes widened at the implication. They slowly filled with tears, and she turned back to the armoire and put the clothes away. "As you wish, Jason."

The man nodded stiffly, and took a seat on the bed, removing his crown.

Silence reigned; a tense, quiet silence that Elissa hated. She picked up Ariadne and nursed her, trying to break some of the stillness, but the quiet was still eerie.

What had just happened? Jason had never hit her. Her cheek still tingled from the pain and she could feel bruises starting to form on her wrists and face.

What was happening? That wasn't the Jason she had fallen in love with. And from the startled look on his face, he seemed to realize it, too.

She finished burping Ariadne and pressed a hand to her throbbing cheek. Setting the infant back in the crib, she swallowed a sob. The baby sighed, smiled, and fell back asleep, totally unaware of the tension that filled the room.

A knock on the door suddenly reverted the world to a vague sense of normalcy. Jason set the crown back on his head, and moved to stand behind Elissa, setting a comforting hand on her shoulder. She nearly flinched, but refused to let her fear show. "Come in," the King called.

A soldier opened the door, breathing hard. "Majesty, there's been an attack."

"What?" Elissa said.

"Of Horrors. They want Thrace."

Elissa went white; Jason's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. "Th-thrace?"

The soldier nodded. "One of them said something about finding the Hatutsul—whatever that is—but another said that she was dead. So they want Thrace."

A sudden boom caused the castle to shake. Elissa grabbed Ariadne. Jason nodded, and said, "Prepare my armor. I'll be right there."

The soldier bowed and vanished into the corridor.

Jason turned to his Queen and grabbed her arm gently. "Pack Ariadne's things, and your own, of course. Get to the passage in the library. It'll lead you to the shelter underground, outside the castle in case it's destroyed. He cupped her face in his hands. "And always remember that I love you more than anything."

The tears threatening to tumble down her cheeks finally fell, and she let out a sob. Jason kissed her softly and said, "Go. Go now."

Elissa nodded, and grabbed the bag of clothing she had been packing moments before. She reached into her own armoire and took out a clean, simple dress and some fresh undergarments. As she opened the door, she turned to give one heartbroken look back at Jason.

He grabbed her arm. "I'm sorry," he said in a low, strangled tone. "I'm sorry I couldn't keep you safe, even from me."

She gave him a sad smile, "It's forgiven. I love you."

He looked startled at the confession. "What?"

She touched his cheek with a gentle finger, her smile widening. "I love you. I always will, no matter what." Then she was running down the hallway, hunched neatly over the bundle of baby and knapsack clutched tightly to her.

Jason ran a hand through his hair and turned in the opposite direction, towards the armory.

The battle was bloody. Jason— a Magic- Worker specialized in hypnotism— managed to slow down some of the Horrors enough for his alchemist to turn them to steel. The soldiers threw firebombs and other explosives to hopefully blow the Horrors to pieces, but they would regenerate eventually unless put into stasis.

There were only fifty Horrors compared to the thousand soldiers, but Horrors healed almost instantly and were specialized in magic. Within one small hourglass, Jason had lost a quarter of his original force and was running out of ideas.

One Horror, a woman with a flying braid the she cracked like a whip, grinned wickedly at him and threw a ball of fire and the main wall of the castle. The gangplank on the top of it went up in flames and exploded. Jason instantly calculated a loss of another five hundred men.

_Fuck._

He dodged a blast of scalding hot water from a bird-shaped Horror and ducked, offering a prayer to the Saints. Few knew where Horrors had come from, but supposedly, they were the Saints' natural enemies. If only he had a Saint here now…

One of the Horrors, a huge snake-like beast with the head of a boar, yelled in his rough voice, "I sense something…"

The Horrors stopped. Instantly an alchemist turned two more into pewter. The Horror continued. "Something I haven't sensed in hundreds of years…a _good_— no, not good—a _pure_ feeling." His eyes followed an invisible line in the ground.

The tunnel… _No, Saints, no!_

The snake-boar nodded. "A pure feeling… of destruction, but… _good _destruction. _Right_ destruction. It's reaching out to me… I can feel it. It's as if it wants me…"

The Horror who had sent a ball of fire cried, "Jinir! No!"

Jinir attacked the line in the ground and wrapped its tail around something. Clawed arms shot out of the snakelike body and wrapped grabbed Elissa who was running as fast as she could. She screamed, loud and long, curling her body around the bundle of the baby. He could see Jinir's claws digging into her body, rivulets of blood beginning to pour down the silken folds of her skirt.

And then something happened. A tiny light glowed between Jinir's claws, silvery light tinged with black. It glowed there for a moment, so minute Jason could hardly see it, and then suddenly it grew out with an incredible speed, blinding the remaining humans and engulfing all of the Horrors.

It slowed, and then stopped as it reached the burning wall and the last of the pewter Horrors. Everything sort of froze, the light just _there_, a ball of silvery- black.

And then it flared out ward in an explosion of light. As it burst, it became transparent, and Jason watched in awe as the Horrors exploded.

Then the light faded as quickly as it had come, and silence ruled the quiet battlefield now littered with smoldering clumps of flesh, bone- dust, and fifty Horror necklaces. Silence, save for the sounds of a baby's fearful screams.


	3. part i: death

**Title: **horrors

**Summary: **The fate of the world rests in the hands of a girl who has never been anything but a slave to those around her. Dark, morbid, angsty retelling of Sleeping Beauty.

**Rating: **A hard R, for language, graphic violence, and all sorts of sexual content. Nothing terribly explicit, but some things could be considered mildly limey. Warnings, in the sexual area for: rape, homosexuality, pedophilia, necrophilia, and incest. If these things bother you, get out.

**Other notes: **This is constantly in the process of editing. I think I've got the prologue pretty much done, but the rest is still pending.

**death**

_you can win the battle, but the war is already lost  
--anonymous_

Elissa was wounded badly in protecting her child. The young woman had still been a little weak from childbirth, but the healers doubted anyone would've come out of it unscathed.

There had still been a few huge claws embedded in her skin when Ariadne had first used her powers in fear. Somehow, the young Crown Princess had protected herself and her mother from the blast of whatever- it- was, but she had not saved Elissa. The Queen had gashes stretching from across her back to her stomach, puncture wounds in her spine, buttocks, and neck, and her pelvis and legs had been crushed from the tight hold Jinir had had her in.

Jason alternated between throwing herself in his work and never leaving her side while she lay between life and death; unconscious most of the time, awakening only to moan and maybe drink a little broth.

Finally she awoke fully, gasping from the pain. Jason was, at that point, snoozing next to her, but when she murmured weakly and tried to turn, he awoke instantly, and placed gentle hands on her shoulders. "Shh, love, don't move. _Please_. You're badly injured and I don't want you to get any worse."

She offered him a weak smile. "Jason…"

He gave her a wan grin. "I'm here, Elissa."

"Jason… am I going to live?"

The King's posture slumped, and he looked away. Instantly she knew the answer, but pushed him anyway.

"Jason?"

When he met her eyes again, his were full of tears. "I—I don't know. It's not expected, but now that you're awake…" He shrugged. "Perhaps that changes things. No one even thought you would even regain coherence." He closed his eyes, hoping that she'd miss the lie.

She tried to make herself hope. "Well, then, maybe I'll live."

He shook his head. "Elissa, you should've been killed instantly by these— or, if not instantly, then within the day. You've held on for two weeks, because of Ariadne..." He didn't want to add the other reason.

"Ariad…" she stopped, struggling to think through the pain. "She killed the Horrors."

He nodded. "Mashanji was right."

"Aren't I always?" The low, melodic voice made both of them jump, Elissa crying out in pain. Jason grabbed her hand with a firm gentleness and glared at the empty-eyed Horror. She raised and eyebrow at him but did not take her white eyes off of the Queen. "I have an offer for you, Elissa Penelope."

Jason set his mouth in a thin line. "It is an offer I want you to refuse, Elissa… no good can come of it. But if you must…"

Elissa tried to sit up, but her body collapsed underneath her. Tears of sheer agony poured down her face and Jason carefully rearranged her body so she was more comfortable. "Tell me what the offer is," she muttered through gritted teeth.

"Simple. Right now, you _will_ survive, though you will never be able to walk. Ariadne made that you would live, though how, I know not. I am not a Hatutsul, after all." She smirked lightly, revealing one long, pointed fang, before continuing. "But if you give up your life and give me your life- force, I will guard Ariadne— without her knowledge, of course— for as long as she lives. If you refuse, you and she will survive, though not without struggle, and I will walk out of your life."

Elissa looked at Mashanji cluelessly. "Why?"

The Horror smirked again. "Why? Because I am bored. Because I desire a life-force to create a companion. Your soul, your heart, your mind, will go to whatever afterlife you believe in, but your life itself will be mine. I have all of eternity, and I desire someone of my own creation to share it with. A little girl, perhaps."

Elissa was silent, and then she looked up. "If… if I refuse… I will never…walk again?"

"No."

"And if I agree… Ariadne… will be safe?"

Mashanji nodded, sober for a moment. "Yes."

Jason squeezed the Queen's hand. "Elissa… Elissa, please, no…"

She turned to him. "You told me I probably wouldn't survive!" she said, a little accusingly.

He bowed his head. "I—I apologize. But…" he shrugged helplessly, his eyes dull in acceptance but still pleading. "I didn't want her to show up. I thought, perhaps that it would've been a dream. But it's a deal with the devil, Elissa! A deal with the sworn enemies of the Saints! Please don't, Elissa, _please!_"

She frowned. "You said you were the man of the house. But I am the woman of the house, and I can do what I please."

He bowed his head. "Yes."

"And I wish to save my—no, _our_ daughter from the Horrors. I _will_ do whatever it takes to keep Ariadne safe."

Jason's head tipped up slightly. He whispered "No..." in a soft, weak manner, his dark eyes heartbroken.

She gripped his fingers. "You'll survive without me, Jason. I know you will." Letting go of hi shand, she reached up and brushed his cheek with difficulty.

His hand came up and caught her wrist. "I won't let you," he said, his voice quiet but firm.

"It's my choice."

"Not when it affects me, it isn't!"

Elissa carefully took her wrist out of his hand. She touched his cheek again, and then weakly stuck a hand out to Mashanji. "I accept your terms."

The Horror took the slender, bandaged hand, grasping it firmly. "Goodbye, your Majesty."

"Elissa! No!" Jason cried.

Elissa fell back onto the pillows, sighing softly, a small smile on her face. Mashanji turned to Jason and said, "I will watch her. Do not fear."

Then the pale woman vanished, leaving Jason alone, slumped and sobbing onto his dead Queen.


	4. part i: elissa

**Title: **horrors

**Summary: **The fate of the world rests in the hands of a girl who has never been anything but a slave to those around her. Dark, morbid, angsty retelling of Sleeping Beauty.

**Rating: **A hard R, for language, graphic violence, and all sorts of sexual content. Nothing terribly explicit, but some things could be considered mildly limey. Warnings, in the sexual area for: rape, homosexuality, pedophilia, necrophilia, and incest. If these things bother you, get out.

**Other notes: **This is constantly in the process of editing. I think I've got the prologue pretty much done, but the rest is still pending. And this is the end of the prologue, and where the R rating starts to come in. Heavily. Be forewarned.

**elissa**

_but someday we'll be old  
and i'll be so damn beautiful  
meanwhile i'll hide my head  
here in this paper bag  
cause if I can't see you then you can't see me  
and it'll be okay  
fly little bee away  
to where there's no more rain and i can be me  
--anna nalick, 'paper bag'_

He paused in the tiny village to get a sip of water and inquire as to the location of where the young Mistress Jiyana and the child Elissa lived.

It had been five years since he'd seen his daughter, five long, lonely years without a wife or a child or any love, and he missed the infant she had once been.

_She's not an infant anymore_, Jason reminded himself. _She's five now. A child. Not an infant._

Another voice in him said that she wasn't even human. She was a Hatutsul, a Horror-Slayer. They told him it was the exact combination of genes and purity of spirit made her a destroyer of evil. Born to kill Horrors.

He was dressed as a peasant, his graying black locks cut short by his own hand to hide the fact that it had been treated and beautified with chemicals almost every day of his life. A thick canvas cloak, lined with slightly moth- eaten fur, and torn and rotting around the hem, covered a pair of pain breeches and a dusty tunic and shirt. His sword was tucked behind him, and he had a knapsack slung over one shoulder. He felt worn, old, and dirty.

However, he washed up at the well before entering the inn, and that made all the difference. He stopped into the inn and ordered a drink, asking the innkeeper if her knew where the two lived.

The innkeeper tonelessly directed him towards the Herani forest, where there was a road that led to the small cottage that housed the 'whore and her girl.'

Jason bit back an angry retort and thanked him generously, putting up his hood and leaving.

Every Season he sent Kelly and his daughter plenty of money— enough to eat, buy clothes, and live in mild luxury. But living in a cottage? A whore? What was wrong with this picture? Why was she not getting the money?

Five years had aged him; though he was still handsome, he had the beginnings of wrinkles in the corners of his eyes, and his hair was gray at the temples. Though his body was still as strong as ever, for his swordwork had only become more intense with Elissa's death, his every move appeared tired and old. But what showed his age the most was the hard, dark, grieving look in his eyes that never faded, and the set line of his mouth, as though always holding back tears. Wearily, he turned and looked back at the inn, longing to kill someone, and then began to walk, putting it behind him.

It was odd, but the only thing he had never been able to put behind him was _her_.

He entered the forest, following a trail wide enough for only one or two horses. Horses were a rare commodity, anyway; he doubted that Kelly owned one. But when he heard the sound of a jangling harness, his assumption was disproved.

A small wagon came around the corner, driven by a slim woman, her short blonde hair tucked up under a cap. She wore a neat, simple, worn dress with threadbare velvet cuffs, but her eyes were red-rimmed and she looked exhausted.

He hailed her. "Kelly!"

She looked up, startled, and he could see tiny lines of worry and fear around her mouth and eyes. "Majesty! Please— they don't know my name here. Mistress Jiyana will do."

"You mean, you don't want them to think we're _close_." He enunciated the word with scorn.

She blushed with shame, and looked away. "Are you here to see Elissa?"

He nodded. "I am. Why Elissa? In your letter that's what you told me, but you offered no explanation."

"I didn't want them to know her true name. Mashanji thought it best."

Jason raised his eyebrows. "You thought it prudent to approach a Horror?"

Kelly looked defensive. "First of all, _she_ approached _me_, second, she's sworn to protect her, and third, her companion has become Elissa's playmate."

"A Horror?"

"In a way…" Kelly shrugged. "Apparently she hasn't come into her powers… it takes ten years for a new Horror to take power. So Mashanji tells me. Elissa hasn't seen her."

Jason pulled himself into the wagon next to her, and Kelly carefully turned it around. "They think you're a whore."

"I've had a few lovers… and I 'have a child.' People put two and two together." Her voice was neutral, toneless.

"Lovers. Carrying on a tradition, I see."

She shrugged, ignoring the last comment. "When your husband dies in a battle, and you have to run away before you can even bury him— with the supposedly dead Crown Princess of Thrace, and be her wet nurse since her mother's dead…" she shrugged again. "I suppose I was searching for comfort."

Jason frowned. "I searched for comfort as well. In different ways. Work, war, fencing. I suppose I understand, a little." He peered into her face. She looked so old. "Pardon my bluntness, but I only thought you were about seventeen."

"I was. I'm twenty-two now. Raising a girl and protecting her and me from getting hit with rotten tomatoes tends to age you some."

Jason leaned back, relaxing a bit, throwing the hood of his peasant cloak back. "I suppose the drink contributed as well, hmm?"

"Maybe a—" Her head spun around and she looked into his eyes, stunned. "How did you know?"

"It's obvious. Your eyes, your yellow-white skin, the newfound cynicism." His eyes narrowed, and he demanded, "Have you been hitting Ariadne?"

She shook her head fiercely, tears welling up in her eyes. "Saints, no! I would never—"

He grabbed her wrist, hard enough to bruise. "Tell me the truth!"

She glared at him, the tears escaping her eyes. "I _am_ telling the truth! Haven't I always told you the truth?" She wrenched her hand from his grasp and said hotly, "I don't lie. I sin, I really do, but I don't lie."

He sneered at her. "So your husband knew?"

"Yes. That's why I stopped; because I loved him too much to keep it up after I married him."

"Yet you kept coming anyway."

She turned back to the path. "I said I was a sinner." Her eyes flickered to him, and then she said, "Know this, though. That child— the miscarried one— was his. I have no doubt."

They rounded a corner and came upon a cottage that had seen better days, but was still nice. Jason raised an eyebrow.

Kelly was neutral again. "It's clean, and Elissa is well- dressed. I _am_ taking good care of her. The merchants refuse to accept my money, so I can't make repairs."

He nodded.

The door opened, and a small girl with large dark eyes and near-black curls tumbling down her back ran out. "Mama!"

Kelly hopped off and picked up the girl, hugging her tightly. "Hello, my baby." Jason noticed that she was wearing a pair of thin leather gloves with embroidered silver designs. Kelly looked over her shoulder and said softly, "She can't control her power— it flares with her emotions. The only that does control it is silver, but too much of it injures her severely." Ariadne had ignored the entire spiel and continued to speak:

"Mama! Mama! Guess what me an' Nariandra did!"

Kelly smiled and poked Ariadne's nose. "What, baby?"

"We climbed onta the roof, and I jumped off an' then she caught me! It was fun!"

An eight- year- old child with short dark blond hair poked her head out. She looked straight into Jason's eyes with her pure black ones and seemed to read his soul. He shuddered. Her eyes were as empty as Mashanji's, albeit in different ways.

But what scared him the most was the black Horror necklace with a right-side-up cross, explaining her connection with Mahsanji.

That was Elissa's life… Elissa's life was owned by a Horror.

She offered him a small, cold smile, and he could see a touch of Elissa at her darkest. Desire, cold and hungry, filled him.

He couldn't want her— a mere child. Just a girl. Like his own child.

"Of course you want her. She was your wife." Mashanji's voice echoed in his ears, in his mind, audible only to him. "She won't mind you—"

"She's s child!" he murmured, stunned and horrified. No one seemed to hear, but he could _tell_ Mashanji— wherever she was— was smirking.

"Only in appearance. She is ageless in spirit. She is a Horror." Mashanji's cold voice was cruel, mocking. "You could take her if you wanted. I am her maker. I don't mind. She doesn't care."

The desire flared into his body, hard and demanding. He wanted her, wanted her more than anything he'd ever wanted.

He bent to her level, looked into her eyes. "Will you show me about your home?"

Her empty eyes betrayed nothing. "It's not my permanent home. It's Elissa's and Mistress Jiyana's. But I will show you around. Come in."

She opened the door, let him in, and shut it. In a second she was shoved up against the door, her tiny body surprisingly flexible.

Jason glared at her. "You're a Horror. You know them," he said, jerking his head to indicate Kelly and Ariadne. "Their past. What they really are."

A cool, vague smile. "Yes, I do."

"Do they?"

"Mistress Jiyana does. But Elissa has no idea."

"Get out of her life, Elissa." His voice was low and angry and his head was spinning with want. It was tempting— too tempting. He fought to resist.

The Horror— Nariandra— smirked. "I'm not your wife. I just have a piece of me in her."

"You took her fucking life! You're nothing more than a bastardized, evil piece of flesh"

"You slept with your daughter's wet nurse. She slept with her husband in retaliation. But you never found out because you told her the truth on bended knee, begging for forgiveness. If anyone's a bastard here, it's _you_. And," Nariandra clarified, "_I_ didn't take her life—my maker did. To make herself a companion to last for all eternity. We Horrors search for comfort, too."

With that the little girl reached up and touched her lips to his.

He distantly heard the wagon jangle into the distance, and realized that he was alone with a child that had his dead wife's life and a piece of her soul. And that said child was kissing him. And he wanted her to.

Within moments he had her bent backwards over the small table in the tiny kitchen, and her clothes were being removed with a speed and urgency he'd never felt before. For a child, she was developing quickly—she had the body of a preteen on the face and stature of a kid.

And he took her right there, with all the fire and anger and sorrow he had built up in the past five years. He moaned Elissa's name softly, and the Horror welcomed it with no sounds, only harsh panting.

When he finished, he put on his pants again and left the child to clean up after herself. She simply waved her fingers and was clean and dressed again, not even smelling of sex. He cocked an eyebrow.

She smirked, folding her arms. "I fed her some cock-and-bull story about not coming into my powers until ten years after my making. That's a load of shit. I was as powerful at birth as I will be in a hundred years, and a thousand. I'm a Horror. I can do what I wish." She turned to walk out, and then stopped. "By the way, Jason Julius," she said coolly, "the other reason the village thinks she's a whore is because she has a female lover."

"What?" Jason asked, stunned.

"Mashanji. Everyone knows it, because the baker walked in on them when he delivered bread one time." She waved a hand. "Don't trouble her with telling her. She has enough problems as it is."

Jason turned, and nearly lifted his hand to smack the child. However, he regained his composure before his anger got the best of him again. He couldn't let that happen. Picking up his cloak, he stepped outside to wait for his daughter.

Kelly and Ariadne arrived home not much after they left. The woman offered him a wan smile—the only type she seemed to have—and said, "I trust Nariandra kept you entertained."

He returned the weak grin just slightly amused at the fact that she still spoke like a courtier even after five years alienated from that world. "Yes, Kelly, she did."

Ariadne clutched the young woman's skirts and said, "Are you a friend of Mama's, mister?"

Jason looked up at Kelly, who shrugged helplessly. "She thinks I'm her mother," she mouthed.

He nodded slowly. "Ari—Elissa," he said, bending to her level. "I want to talk to you. Do you want to come inside with me?"

She glanced at Kelly, who gave her and encouraging smile, and nodded. "All right, mister."

He took her hand and led her in, carefully sitting her on the table. Then he sat next to her, crossing his legs. "How old are you, Elissa?"

"I'm five and one-half years old," the little girl said brightly, holding up a hand with fingers spread wide.

He nodded. "Good, then. Look, Elissa. I need to tell you something, something you can never, _ever _forget. And you can never_, ever_ tell anyone. Do you swear?"

She nodded. "I do, mister. What is it?"

He frowned. "A little over five years ago, when you were a Season old, your mother—your _birth_ mother—was killed in a battle."

The girl looked stunned. And betrayed. "You mean…Mama isn't my _real_ mother?"

He took her hand firmly. "No, no. Kelly—your mama—_is_ your mother in almost every sense of the word. She just didn't have you. But she loves you just the same as she would love her own child; maybe even more." She opened her mouth to speak, and he held up a hand. "Wait, Ar—Elissa. There's more. There's so much more." He turned to face her, taking her other hand. "As for your father—I _am_ your father. I sent you with Kelly after my wife—your birth mother—died. For your safety."

"You're my…father?"

He nodded.

The little girl smiled at him, her eyes bright, her face pure, totally unaware of the deed that had been performed on that very table only a few hourglasses earlier. "Father, why did you send me away?"

He pulled her into a tight hug, burying his face in her hair. "You are not just Elissa. In fact, that is not your name at all. It's your middle name, and your mother's name. But not yours."

She pulled away, and looked up at him, eyes wide. "Not…my name?"

"No. You are not just Elissa. You are Lady Ariadne Elissa, Crown Princess of Thrace."

Her eyes widened. "_Me?_"

He nodded again. "And—remember this, though you will not understand it now."

"Yes…Father."

"You are a Hatutsul. A Horror-Slayer. You were created to kill Horrors. That's why when you feel strong emotions you have power come out of your hands. People will want you, lust after you, become driven mad with desire—of many different kinds. Guard yourself, and guard your heart. Do not let your skill—if it can be called that—to get in the way of your hopes and dreams. Remember this." He laced the last two words with magic—she would never forget a single aspect of the conversation. However, he looked down into her eyes and took her hands again, removing her gloves; no doubt they would become a constant sign for what she was, and he would not let that happen to her. "Do you promise to always remember who you are, Ariadne?"

She nodded. "I do, Father. I will always remember."

He kissed her forehead. "You are not Elissa, Ariadne. You are Ariadne. Princess. Hatutsul. But mostly, you are you. Make the most of yourself. For me. For your mother." He wrapped his arms around her again. "I love you."

Then he was up and pulling the hood of his cloak over his head. About to walk out the door, she stopped him with a cry as she pulled herself off the table. "Father!"

He turned. "What?"

"Will I ever see you again?"

He smiled, sadly. "I don't know, Ariadne."

She burst forward and wrapped her arms around his waist. "I love you, too."

He stroked her hair. "Remember, Ariadne." He kissed her forehead one last time. In that kiss, touched her mind, spending a moment looking for the place she held her most special memories. Instead, he a tiny box in the center of her metaphorical mind, a box that held her deepest secrets, memories, dreams and, he realized information she was born with, information about being a Hatutsul. He strengthened the box, and placed in it every memory he had of him and Elissa, from the first moment he had seen her to her dying day. It took only a moment, and he pulled away, surprised to see Elissa in her young face. Then he was gone, blinking furiously at the sudden tears in his eyes.

The little girl stood at the door for a long time, even after his body had disappeared down the trail. "I will remember, Father," she said softly. "I will never, ever forget."


	5. part ii: lourdes

**Title: **horrors

**Summary: **The fate of the world rests in the hands of a girl who has never been anything but a slave to those around her. Dark, morbid, angsty retelling of Sleeping Beauty.

**Rating: **A hard R, for language, graphic violence, and all sorts of sexual content. Nothing terribly explicit, but some things could be considered mildly limey. Warnings, in the sexual area for: rape, homosexuality, pedophilia, necrophilia, and incest. If these things bother you, get out.

**Other notes: **Uh…well, part two. The inciting incident, if you know dramatic structure. And, as usual, things could change in the future. Keep a sharp eye out for random edits. I'll always tell if I overhaul, which I may…but then, I may not.

**part ii: crossing the rubicon**

_i'm supergirl  
and i'm here to save the world  
but i wanna know  
who's gonna save me  
--krystal, 'supergirl'_

**lourdes**

'_cause you can't jump the track  
we're like cars on a cable  
and life's like an hourglass glued to the table  
no one can find the rewind button now  
so cradle your head in your hands  
and breathe  
just breathe  
--anna nalick, 'breathe (2 am)'_

Ariadne was angry. She burst through the door of the old cottage, muttering harsh curses under her breath.

Electricity flooded through her veins, and she suddenly blasted two craters in the ground under her hands.

Swearing, she smacked her hands together, effectively stopping the flow of power exploding from her palms.

"Elissa?" She looked up at the weak, hoarse voice coming from the bedroom.

"Coming, Mama." Ariadne took several deep, slow breaths, calming herself. She was calm. She was a Crown Princess and the adoptive daughter of a sick woman who had given herself to prostitution when the money from the King stopped coming. She was strong, she was brave, she was an adult.

She had felt like an adult for ages, but now she actually was, and she ached from it.

She hurried into the room and knelt by the single bed. Kelly was only in her early thirties, but she looked like an old woman. Her blond hair was liberally streaked with gray, her gray-white skin was still somewhat smooth, but yellowed and spotted from drink. Her eyes were red rimmed and bloodshot. Her voice was rough and tired. And yet, she still had an exhausted beauty in her, a gleam in her eyes and full lips that pouted and smiled in turn, and kept her from totally losing her youth.

And she smiled brightly at Ariadne and reached out a thin, liver- spotted hand. "Hello, darling," she said soothingly. "Happy birthday."

Ariadne knelt next to the bed and squeezed Kelly's hand. "Thank you, Mama."

Her mother rubbed her thumb in Ariadne's palm and said dreamily, "Fifteen…I was betrothed when I was fifteen." She winked at Ariadne. "Any boys in the village that capture your fancy?"

Ariadne blushed slightly. "They hardly touch me, Mama. I'm only tolerated because the bookseller likes us."

Kelly laughed weakly. "Well, we bought the old cottage he'd always wanted to get rid of. Of course he likes us." She struggled to sit up. Ariadne carefully pushed her up and plumped the pillows behind her.

Kelly continued. "And, by the way, stop buy the bookshop tomorrow. Ha has two gifts for you; one from him and one from me."

Ariadne's eyes lit up. "Really?"

"We're your family. Of course we'll get you gifts. Besides," Kelly added, "You're fifteen. An adult."

Ariadne blushed again. "An adolescent- adult. I'm not a true adult until seventeen."

"But you can get betrothed, finish school, have all the adult privileges except getting married." Kelly shook her head. "Let's not argue about this. You're no longer a child. It's the biggest day of your life so far. Of course you need a gift. From both of us. Your family."

_Family…_

_"Do you promise to always remember who you are, Ariadne?"_

She grinned at the woman she had always called mother. "Yes, Mama. You are the only family I have left."

She felt Kelly's weak hand on her own. "I'm going to die soon, Elissa. Ariadne. I know it; I've seen the sores. On my body, you know. Death is coming to get me, Ariadne. That's your true name."

"I know," Ariadne whispered through numb lips. "Father told me. Nine and a half years ago."

Kelly quirked a small smile. "I should've known. Jason was…an enigma. Complicated. Distraught... over Elissa's death, mostly. And what caused it."

"What caused it, Mama?"

She looked Ariadne directly in the eye. "Horrors caused it, Ariadne. Horrors. And I…" she sighed. "I was close with two. Very close."

Something dawned in Ariadne. "Nariandra was a Horror— whatever that is— wasn't she?"

Kelly nodded wearily. "Yes."

"And…" Ariadne looked down, a little ashamed. "The woman the baker's wife saw you _with_ was, too, right?"

"Yes."

The girl buried her hands in the folds of her skirt and looked down. It was time to change the subject.

"Mama, do you believe in the Saints?"

Kelly looked momentarily startled, but said, "Do I believe…" She trailed off as she looked out the tiny, grimy window. "Would such merciful, 'saintly' beings leave me in such a position? I can't see it. I believe in fate, destiny, but…" she turned back to her daughter. "No. I don't believe in the Saints." She glanced back at Ariadne. "What an odd question. Do you?"

Ariadne frowned. "I don't know. I don't know what I believe anymore."

Kelly gave her another faint smile. "Go into town tomorrow. Wait." She glanced out the window, grimy from not being cleaned and mud that had slid off the roof in the recent rainy Season. "Go now. It's only mid-afternoon. You can ride the horse in and pick up those gifts. I want to see you open them."

Ariadne's heart raced at those words. "Mama…you don't mean that! You've got plenty of time to live!"

Kelly shook her head. "I don't Ariadne. My time has come. Go, and go _quickly_."

Ariadne hurried out to the small, run-down barn. She opened the stall, grabbed the bridle, and quickly put it on the horse. Then she swung up onto it and galloped into town.

ooo

The bookseller—a stooped, aging man with a long white beard and a shiny bald head—was just about to close up when she arrived. "Elissa!" he called. "In town for the second time today!"

Ariadne smiled at him and dismounted, curtseying. "Good evening, Master Enan. Mama said you had my birthday gifts, and she says she's dying, so she told me to hurry."

The bookseller looked horrified. He quickly opened his shop up again, stroking his beard. "Oh, the poor woman…how bad is it?"

"She's taking it with a peace I didn't know she had," Ariadne said softly. "She was always so bitter about everything…but she's calm about this. And yet-- she doesn't even believe in the Saints or in paradise."

"Of course she wouldn't. After what she'd been through—well, if I'd have been her I might've killed myself."

Ariadne smiled as the hurried old man dropped his keys in his hurry. Picking them up for him, she said softly, "She once told me I was the only thing that kept her alive."

"I can see it," Master Enan said, finally opening the door. "You're worth living for, Elissa."

She blushed at the compliment and followed him in.

There was a mirror on the side of the entryway to the bookshop. Ariadne stopped for a moment, half-mesmerized by her appearance.

She was short, slender, and pale. But the sun rarely shone in Thrace— she heard it rarely shone anywhere on the continent, but how could she be sure when she'd never _been_ anything more than a few leagues away from the village— so nearly everyone was pale. Her face was a round oval, with a defined chin, and it was framed by long, dark brown curls that fell nearly to her waist. She had large eyes, so dark a gray- brown they were almost black, and her nose was straight and small. Her ears, though were mildly large, which she hated, and she hid them under her hair most of the time.

She wore a threadbare burgundy dress, covered with an equally thin black velvet cloak. Her shoes were boots that she had grown out of two years before, but they weren't too tight. They jus barely pinched her toes. She, like everyone else in the village, carried a small bag on her back full of necessary living supplies: a couple empty water skins, a dagger, a sewing kit, and cloths for her monthly bleeding.

She was poor, visibly so. She frowned at a bruise on her temple—yesterday one of the local boys had thrown a rock at her. She had dodged it, but not enough. She remembered the pain seeping through her body and the way her palms itched when she got angry. She had barely managed to control for the few feet she had to run to hide in the woods, where she blasted a tree and then sobbed.

Lost in the memory, she was startled when Master Enan yelled, "Come on, Miss Elissa! We haven't all day!"

She turned away from the dirty mirror and followed the old man into the darkened bookshop.

He was standing next to two boxes, one rather large, and the other smaller.

She smiled thankfully at him, and he said, "Let's go back to your house. I want to be there when you open them."

She nodded, and in half a small hourglass the two of them were on horses, galloping back through the path.

Ariadne had never been a good horseback rider; the horse was necessary simply because they lived so far away from the small village. She knew the commands the horse used to change directions, and she knew to straddle the horse, and she could stay on. But that was the limit of her abilities. Though it was enjoyable, it was far from her favorite pastime. She would rather devote herself to studying Thracian government and history or growing tea or practicing with her dagger than ride.

But when she was galloping, and the wind was running through her hair, blowing back from her face, and she was warm despite the cold wind that stung her nose and ears, horseback riding was truly amazing.

Master Enan kept up with her despite his age. He was a good rider, and a good friend. Like how she thought a grandfather might be if she had had one.

They entered the clearing in near-record time, and Ariadne dismounted and took the reins of both horses. She gave them each a quick rubdown and entered the cabin.

Kelly and Master Enan were talking. Her eyes were happy, though she was lying down again, and she even managed to gesture as she talked. Ariadne stood in the doorway, just watching for a while.

It was obvious, now that she thought about it. Her mother wasn't just ill; she _was_ dying. It hurt her heart to see the woman who had given so much up for her to go in such a way.

What was worse was that she couldn't ease her pain physically. The woman she called mother had kissed away her every tear, but she couldn't repay her. She could never repay her for the pain and horror that she had gone through every day for fifteen painful years.

Kelly looked up into her eyes, and smiled. "Come here, darling, and open your presents."

Ariadne took a step and picked up the big box. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she carefully lifted the box lid to reveal a thick, dark pile of fabric. Lifting it, she found a cloak, thick, black, hooded, long. It was lined with soft, light fur and the outside was a warm canvas.

"Oh," she breathed.

Kelly smiled. "Your cloak is simply too cold. It's only good for a little bit of Sumer Season, and the rest of the time it's far too cold. You needed something warmer, so I took that stash of money I had and had Enan buy you the nicest one he could get."

"Mama…" Ariadne trailed off. "That was your money—"

"Hush," Kelly said softly. "You need it more than I do. You have a long life ahead of you."

She wanted to protest, but her mother's adamancy made her close her mouth. She took the cloak out and looked at her mother. "Thank you," she said softly.

"There's more," the ill woman prompted.

Ariadne looked back into the box. There was more dark cloth. Lifting it up, she saw in the faint light of the lantern that it was so dark a green it was almost black. Shaking the folds out, she realized that it was a simple dress, with loose slitted sleeves and round neckline. In the box, there was still more fabric; a black, tight-sleeved underdress that fitted to her small form tightly in support and laced up the back, a corset as well as a chemise. Both were made of a thick, soft comfortable cotton, and fell to the ground.

"As for shoes," Kelly said, "I have an old pair of boots I haven't worn in years. You can have them. Yours are falling apart."

Ariadne looked at her mother. "It's so much, Mama. I've never gotten this much put together."

Master Enan laughed. "You're fifteen, Elissa. This is your big day. He took the dress and cloak from her lap and handing her the smaller box. "Here, open this."

Inside was a tiny book, small enough that it fit in the palm of her hand. Master Evan took it and said, "This is a library."

Ariadne frowned at him. "Master Enan, you can hardly expect me to believe _that_."

Master Enan smiled. "No, it is. I have every book I've ever had in my shop in here. I specially made it for you; when I was young I was a Magic-Worker—a Scriber. I mass-copied books and turned small books like this into libraries so that kings and generals could carry around huge numbers of books in one small one. In _this_ particular book are all the titles in this library. I named the library Lourdes, so if you want to se the books listed by title, you can say, 'Lourdes, title.' If you want them by author, say, 'Lourdes, author.' And so on for genre, original scribe, subjects, whatever. When you've selected your title, say "Lourdes, and the title of the book you want. It only works in my hands and yours; I configured it to you alone, and I made it."

She stared at the small, light book and flipped through it. Hundreds of titles flooded the pages, and she gasped. Throwing her arms around him, she cried, "Master Enan, it's wonderful!"

He blushed faintly. "Put it in your little bag, Elissa," he said gruffly. "That way, you'll never be without it."

She did so. "Thank you. Thank you, Mama, and Master Enan," she said. "I can't believe it." She took the dress and cloak back in her arms, and looked down, stroking the soft fabric.

A gust of wind blew through the room. She looked back up, eyes rounding in confusion. "Who opened a window—"

Her jaw dropped. The wind was blowing particles of dust around, and the only things left of Master Evan and her mother were half-disintegrated skeletons.

_Saints…Saints!_

She screamed.

And the house collapsed around her.


	6. part ii: noreen

**Title: **horrors

**Summary: **The fate of the world rests in the hands of a girl who has never been anything but a slave to those around her. Dark, morbid, angsty retelling of Sleeping Beauty.

**Rating: **A hard R, for language, graphic violence, and all sorts of sexual content. Nothing terribly explicit, but some things could be considered mildly limey. Warnings, in the sexual area for: rape, homosexuality, pedophilia, necrophilia, and incest. If these things bother you, get out.

**Other notes: **Yup. Next part, and the introduction of one of the most fun characters to write, though I wouldn't touch her in real life with a thirty-nine and a half foot pole.. Enjoy the update, please review, etc.

I'll probably add the next chapter after this one tomorrow or the day after, but, if I don't, Merry Christmas, and have a Happy New Year. And if you don't celebrate Christmas, well, then, Happy Holiday(s).

Enjoy the chapter,  
nebulia

**noreen**

_nobody knows the trouble i've seen  
nobody knows my sorrow  
-an african- american spiritual_

She ran. Clutching her bag and the new clothes to her chest, she picked up the dusty pair of boots by the bed and kicked off her old ones. Then she ran barefoot through the woods. Something lodged deep inside her was telling her that an evil was coming, something so sick and twisted she could not wrap her mind around it.

She felt stones cut into her feet but did not stop. She rushed through the woods, away from the village, running blindly, the wind biting into her face, her fingers chilled with cold. Fear seeped through her bones, and she felt it start to center around her hands.

_No…_

She wasn't sure what the power was that came through her palms when she felt an emotion strongly. She knew it had something to do with the things her father had told her nearly ten years ago, but…

Once more she wondered what a Horror was. She had asked countless times, many people, but they had always avoided her or shied in away in fear. She was smart enough to know that they were trying to protect her, or they were just plain scared.

But the question was, why? Why did she need to be protected? If she was supposed to kill Horrors, why would she need to be protected from the knowledge of what a Horror was?

And once more, what the fuck was a Horror anyway?

She felt pain shoot through her side, and stopped finally, breathing hard. The evil presence she had sensed had distinctly faded, but it was still there, back around the cottage.

_Wait. How did I know that?_

She shook her head and yanked on her new boots. They were simple, with a low heel, and the leather was comfortably broken in. They laced up to mid-calf. They would be a little big, but it was better than her old ones; they had pinched her toes.

She looked at her bloodied feet. The boots would hurt like hell if she put them on. Wishing she'd had the prudence to remember stockings, she looked around the small clearing she was in. Spying some canvasleaf, she grabbed a few leaves of it and dug the small sewing kit out of her bag. Carefully, with senses still high alert, she stitched the soft, tough leaves together to make a pair of basic stockings.

After finishing the makeshift socks—half her mind on the presence lurking around the cottage—she yanked them on, and then laced up the boots. She stripped off her old, ragged gown and cloak, shivering at the cold, and, clad only in a pair of drawers, slipped on the black underdress, lacing it up. Then she put her burgundy dress back on. The loose sleeves of the dress fell just past her elbow, making her look silly, but she didn't care. Folding up the new green dress and slipping it in her bag, and putting her new cloak over the old one, and slipped the small knapsack on her back.

The presence was moving. Towards her.  
She began to run again, this time wishing she'd brought her horse. She felt the presence move faster, and swore. Her feet ached, and it felt as though whatever- it- was had a horse.

Dammit. But she wasn't going to let it get her. She refused to give up.

She kept running.

ooo

On a black, red-eyed, leathery-winged stallion, Noreen stopped and felt the girl call her.

She wasn't truly calling her, but Noreen wanted her as she had wanted nothing else. The girl enticed her, drew herself to her, and she felt as though she couldn't live without her.

She would have to move fast when she found her. The chit could kill Noreen in moments, and Noreen had no desire to die.

The stallion pranced beneath her, breathing hard, his hot breath blowing into the air. Noreen expelled her own breath, grinning as the mist swirled around her. It was getting dark. All the more fun for her.

She kicked the horse into a gallop and followed the calling.

ooo

Ariadne felt her side ache again, and bit her lip hard to divert herself from the pain. She could feel the thing approaching upon her and suddenly a thought occurred to her.

What if this was one of the infamous Horrors? Could normal people sense Horrors? Could anyone sense them?

She wondered if Master Evan—tears sprang to her eyes at the thought of him—had books on Horrors. She wondered if her new library—Lourdes—had books on them.

But she didn't have time to stop and check if she did. She had to keep going until she threw off the thing's trail.

_But what if it can sense you in the same way you sense it? It will follow you forever,_ A mocking, teasing part of her mind asked.

She looked up at the darkening sky and prayed, _Oh, Saints, let me throw off its trail!_

It does not sense you like that, something told her deep in the recesses of your mind. It is drawn to you, but you can throw it off.

She stopped, and leaned over, gasping, her sides aching from running so hard. "Who are you?" she demanded.

I am your teacher, it said. I am your mind. You are a Hatutsul and you must learn what you are.

She had sensed it before, she realized suddenly. And then she felt as though she had been possessed all her life, as though this thing was not herself. And yet—she _knew_ it as well as she knew herself. It was like a limb, like her own flesh. She could tell that she would hardly have lived without it.

But it had never spoken to her. If it would teach her, she would learn. "Can you help me control it? My power, I mean."

No. I have tried. I am the thing that showed you how to press your palms together to divert your power into yourself. But you must learn control yourself.

"How do I throw it off?"

May I show you? The voice asked. Her fingers twitched, not of their own accord. She looked down and watched as her hands lifted up in the air; she felt as if they were detached from herself.

She nodded, and she felt herself lose total conscious control of her body. She was still in charge, but it was as though everything was moving unconsciously, as necessity to live, not by choice.

Instantly the teacher held her palms out and Ariadne felt the familiar feeling of magic coursing through her body. Then it flowed out her palms, like water, smooth and liquid. And for the first time she noticed that it was like light; silver-colored and laced with black, it lit up the quickly darkening area around her. Smoothly it melted craters into the ground and then footsteps appeared across the ground, turning to her right, faster, and faster and faster until they simply appeared and the light vanished in a blur. The magic stopped, leaving only a thin line of silver where the footsteps started and through the forest.

It is far enough to throw her off. She thinks you have gone that way and fallen in a peat bog, where you most likely drowned. Go to a town and get a job. Then I can train you from them.

Then the teacher began to run Ariadne. She felt her feet moving and her arms pumping and her lungs burning and yet she still felt detached. Not real.

Branches cut her faces and vines wound around her arms, but she was feeling the presence behind her fade.

_Them? Hey, thing that's possessing me?_ She asked silently/

I am not the 'thing that's possessing you.' I am a part of you.

_Whatever. Is that thing…a Horror?_

Yes. Yes, it is, the teacher said. It is.

_So I could kill it._

Yes, you could. But I think it's a very powerful Horror. And you should start small, I think.

_You sound like this is for your personal gain_, she thought.

The teacher laughed. The laugh rang through her head as though her mind was an empty stone chamber. I can't escape you. Nor you me. I _am _you. You are me. But I, for one, do not want to be killed.

_Oh. _A thought occurred to her. _What is a Horror?_

No one has told you?

She shook her head. _Everyone I asked avoided me, either in fear or for some reason they didn't want me to know._

To tell you the truth, I don't know much. I can only do things I learned. I was born knowing this, these skills in killing a Horror. But I was also born with only the basic information on a Horror: they are the most evil creatures to walk this earth. I know no more than that, only that we could kill them.

_So I was born with the knowledge of how to kill Horrors?_

Yes.

_Do you have a name?_

I am you. I have your name.

_Can I call you something?_

I am you. Do you _need_ to call me something? Just thinking will be enough. I am always here.

_Well, then. Would you release me? After all, you don't know where I'm going as much as I don't._

Instantly Ariadne was in charge again. She continued to run, though she slowed down. She felt the thing turn back where she had been only moments before and sighed in relief.

They are enticed by you. Horrors, men of power, everyone. You are enticing. For fifteen years you have been guarded by...well, I don't know why you've been guarded; you just have been. Something has been hiding us, and I don't know what. But it has been. It stopped just recently, apparently, though I did not notice it.

Ariadne frowned, speaking aloud. "I don't understand."

Neither do I.

Ariadne slowed to a quick walk and blindly began to move with more purpose. "I need to find a town," she murmured, shivering.

Feel for heat. Lots of it, the teacher said.

"Heat?"

Body heat, fire heat. Feel for it. Reach out for it.

She nodded, and closed her eyes. Unconsciously one hand drifted upward, and she stretched out with her power, which, she discovered, was located in the center of her torso, right below her lungs. The other hand, also unconsciously, flicked its fingers and suddenly a ball of spinning light lit up the darkening area.

She reached out in all directions. It was as if she was wind, moving through areas at high speed, unseen, leaving no trail.

She found a den of squirrels a few cubits outside her circle of light, and further out a family of deer.

But three hundred cubits to her left was a large clump of heat, fire heat. Body heat. But animals didn't have fire, so it had to be humans. She turned in that direction and opened her eyes. Still feeling the heat, she plunged through the forest.

Noreen's winged horse smelled the peat bog before Noreen herself noticed. It pranced and stopped and refused to go further until she ordered it to. And even then it was reluctant.

But when they found the trail of magic and footsteps end in the peat bog, even Noreen felt a pang of loss.

What was that thing doing to her? How could she want it so badly?

She remembered the Hatutsuls of old. They had been enticing, but this one was much more powerful. The bitch could probably could call the world to her, and the world would probably come.

But when the Hatutsuls died out, perhaps all the power that they were _supposed_ to have in four hundred years was solely diverted into her. Perhaps she was the most powerful Hatutsul to ever live.

And—

Noreen sniffed the air, stretched out bands of power to feel recent deaths. There were none. This was a trick.

Well, she had plenty of time. All she had to do was find the nearest village, and _that_ could wait until morning. But Noreen had needs, and these needs needed to be satiated.

She tied up her horse and conjured a luxurious bed. Lying down on it, she spread her legs. Imagining it was the girl's head between her thighs, she brought herself to the throes of ecstasy more than once that night.

Food. Water. A bed. These things were so desirable Ariadne could hardly think straight.

The heat intensified as she got closer, and she let it go when she could hear the sounds of a village closing for the night. She found herself on a road, and ran the rest of the way to the village.

She must've been a sight, coming forward on that road, her face bloodied, her hair mussed, her cloak and dress splattered with mud.

But as she checked her cloak she realized that while the branches had torn at her burgundy dress, ripping the skirt nearly to shreds, both the cloak and underdress were simply touched with mud at the hems. And, as she watched, it dripped off the cloak, leaving it as clean as it had once been.

What strange magic was this?

She looked up, squared her small shoulders, and walked down the street. She stopped at the first house she could—the blacksmith's, and asked, "Where's the nearest inn?"

The smith, a young, dirty man with wild red curls and bright eyes, gave her a rather terrified once-over. "Down the street," he muttered and pointed in that direction. Then he darted into the smithy proper and shut the door.

What was going on?

I don't know, the teacher said.

She wandered down the street some, and stopped at the carpenter's. Turning to an old, white-haired man, she said, "I need and inn, Can you tell me where it—"

"Jus' tha' way," the carpenter said quickly, pointing. "It's called th' Fat Cow. Ya can't miss it." Then he turned quickly, hiding his face.

She turned, and saw the seamstress in her booth across the street, staring in horror at her. "What is it?" she asked, confused.

The woman looked down and murmured something. Ariadne took several steps forward. "What did you say?"

"You're the girl."

"What?" Ariadne asked, confused.

"The girl from the prophecy," the seamstress said quietly, eyes still on her lap.

Don't ask me, the teacher said. Ariadne furrowed her brow in confusion.

"What prophecy?"

"Ask the innkeeper's father," the woman said. "Like 'e said. It's called th' Fat Cow."

She nodded, and thanked the woman, who hadn't looked up since seeing her. The seamstress nodded and hurried out of her booth and into her house.

Ariadne, more confused than ever, walked on. The Fat Cow was, in fact, easy to find, and she stepped in.

It was a busy, bustling place, not unlike her village's inn. She put up her hood and stepped up to the bar. "I need a room for the night," she said in a low voice. "I can pay my way by doing dishes or cleaning rooms in the morning or anything, but I don't have money."

"Fine, then," The innkeeper said. "Will you bartend tonight? You do tha' an' I'll give ya breakfast an' a room fer the nigh'."

She nodded.

"Why don't you take off your hood?" the man asked.

"No, thank you," Ariadne said lowly. "I've been walking a long time and it's colder out there than usual."

"Ah," the innkeeper said. "You know how to bartend?"

She shrugged. "I've seen it done before."

He nodded. "Well, it's not so hard. An' tonight's not too busy. You should be fine. Everything's labeled."

She nodded, and jumped over the bar. He jumped over the other way, and she began her job.

ooo

He was right; bartending was simple. Ariadne kept her hood up, and didn't speak too loudly, and she was merely thought of as eccentric, not one to be feared.

"So," she said casually, leaning against the bar as she poured a drink nearly four hourglasses after she'd begun. She was talking to an old man who was drinking tea with a shot of whiskey in it, and he seemed to know all the legends of the area. When she discovered he was the innkeeper's father, she asked in the most deceptively casual voice she could use, "I heard some people talking about a prophecy in the town square. What'd they mean? I've never heard of a town having a prophecy."

"Neither did we," the old man said, "Until abou' fourteen years ago, when a man 'alf-dead came to th' town an' said a girl would come out through the west woods, dirty, bedraggled, wearin' a burgundy dress, and would herald doom to our town. E'er since then, we've been lookin' fer such a girl, hopin' 'tis not true, but we haven' seen 'er yet, so 'oo knows?"

"Doom? What kind of doom?" Ariadne asked casually, feeling fear fill her like water filled a glass.

"Dunno," the man said. "But 'e mentioned Horrors. Th' last time Horrors was seen in Thrace was durin' a battle a' the capital some fifteen years ago. They was killed by some unknown reason, an' there 'asn't been Horrors in Thrace since."

More fear. Ariadne thanked the man and decided that she would wake early and get out of that town as fast as she could.

To her surprise, bartending was easy, simple work that she enjoyed. As long as she kept her hood up, she'd be fine.

"Surely ye've warmed by now," the innkeeper said around midnight.

"I'm just more comfortable this way," Ariadne said, realizing that the best way out of this was lying through her teeth. "Call it an eccentricity, but I prefer to keep my hood up at all times. I feel safer that way." He looked at her oddly. "My village was destroyed a few years back," Ariadne continued to lie, praying she didn't sound like she was babbling. "I was spared because I was wearing this cloak and looked like a pile of blankets. And this cloak's saved my life more than once after that."

The man laughed, but he nodded. "My, that _is_ an eccentricity. But I don' mind. Ye're a good barmaid."

Ariadne thanked him, and he said, "We'll be closin' in an hourglass."

She nodded. "Would you like me to clean up?"

"Nah," he said. "Ye did a good job out there, miss. Ye can go ta bed now. Room three, up the stairs."

"Thank you," she said, and walked up to the room.

It was small and dank, with only a nightstand and bed. But the sheets were clean and the mattress was soft and the blankets were warm. She left the east-facing window blinds open and crawled into bed. There she fell asleep, awaiting the dawn.

ooo

All night she was plagued with nightmares that refused to let her wake. She finally did awake less than an hourglass before dawn, when the sky was gray and still lit with bright stars, when she tumbled out of the bed and hit the floor with a thunk.

She needed to get out of here. Fast. She stood and cracked her aching back, and brushed her hair, braiding it tightly. Then she dressed in her green dress and put both cloaks on again. She went down the stairs, wrote a note thanking the innkeeper, and left. Quickly.

"Don't think you'll get away so speedily, Hatutsul."

She stopped. Turned around. And saw a woman on a black stallion. The stallion itself was large—no, huge—and leathery wings, like a bat's, sprouted from its withers. Its eyes were red and he huffed in the air, the vapors in his exhale visible. It was cold again today, and the sky was threatening rain. Ariadne stared at the woman, afraid. The presence she had sensed yesterday was this.

She had been so caught up in getting out that she had not noticed the evil presence lurking inside her, and she nearly slapped herself in her idiocy. This was a Horror.

But whether the horse or the woman was the Horror, Ariadne knew not. She could, however, guess, and she was placing her bets on the woman. The girl looked them over again, pushing back her hood.

The horse was unnatural, that was certain, but the woman incited more fear in her. Her dark eyes were lined with black kohl and shadow and her eyebrows were slightly slanted. Her full lips were painted a dark, bright red, and her pure black hair was cut even to chin-length. She slid smoothly off her horse.

She was wearing a black dress, sleeveless and tight. It clung to her breasts and hips, flaring slightly at mid-thigh and falling to the ground. It had a small train dragging behind her. Slung low on her hips was a belt that held three daggers and a small pouch. Around her neck was a black choker, and attached to that was a small black chain with a star-shaped pendant. Her nipples pressed against the fabric on her chest and as she walked forward, she swung her hips sensually.

Ariadne remembered her mother going to work late at night some nights, swinging her hips like that. Yet she knew that this woman wasn't a common whore. Her mother hadn't been a common whore either, though she had been a prostitute. She had done it because she could do nothing else.

This woman, though, was different. She _enjoyed_ exuding sexuality. And she looked as though she was about to eat Ariadne. The girl backed away.

The woman laughed. "I won't hurt you, Hatutsul," she said softly, her smile revealing fangs. "Not intentionally, at least."

She took several more steps forward. Ariadne stood her ground, trembling with fear, and anger.

"You killed my family," she said. "I sensed you there."

Kill her. The teacher was urging her, but Ariadne wanted an answer first.

"Yes," the woman said, "I did. I wanted you." She lifted Ariadne's chin with a finger topped with a black, curved, sharp-ended claw. "I still want you. You're an awfully pretty virgin."

Kill her. Ariadne nodded. "Murderer!" she hissed, and then she centered her power and felt it flow to her hands.

However, her battle cry was silenced in her throat when the woman kissed her.

It was a hard, painful kiss. The woman's teeth bit into her lip, drawing blood. One hand curled around her neck, claws pricking the skin. The other hand drew to her hip, where it sent floods of painful, burning heat through her body. Just as quickly, she drew away.

Ariadne's back was suddenly open to the air. The woman smiled cruelly at her. "I'm Noreen," she said softly, seductively. "Your new master."

Twisting, Ariadne turned and saw a neat rectangular hole in the back of dress, right on the left side of the small of her back, above her hip. Burned into the flesh there was a silver star. The silver burned slightly. She ran her fingers across it and gasped slightly in pain. It felt odd, like a part of her. As she watched, the hole in her dress slowly closed itself up, leaving only the painful feeling of the scar underneath it.

"I was trained in alchemy," Noreen said. "I turned part of your skin into silver. I now can command you." She smiled wickedly again and said, "Kiss me."

Instantly Ariadne's hands slid around the woman's neck and she leaned up and pressed her lips against Noreen's.

Horror and disgust slid through her as Noreen moaned into her mouth and stroked her back. Her mind was screaming to pull away, but her body didn't seem to even be listening.

Kill her. She hasn't ordered you not to, the teacher said.

The thought had occurred to Ariadne proper as well. She began to focus her power and send it through her palms slowly, allowing it to heat up and burn through Noreen's skin.

The Horror let go and pushed her away. Laughing she turned and showed Ariadne two handprint-shaped burns on her bare back. As the girl watched, they faded and healed revealing new, fresh skin.

"That was a clever trick," Noreen said, "But it won't be happening again. From this moment on, you are forbidden to kill me or intentionally hurt me in any way unless I say so. Is that clear?"

"No," Ariadne growled, and tried to attack her again. But her body only lunged slightly, and she fell to the ground. Pain shot through her limbs and torso as she tried to resist the curse the Horror had put on her, but the silver was sending burning sensations through her body, and it hurt like hell. She shuddered and twitched in pain.

"You know, Hatutsul bitch, as well as I do," Noreen said. "Silver restricts you. You can't be in contact with it."

She nodded weakly, still laying on the ground, feeling the shudders in her body fade.

Noreen leaned down again. "Don't worry, my little Hatutsul bitch," she said softly, running a black- enameled claw up the girl's throat. "I'll take _good_ care of you, I promise," she finished, the claw ending at her chin, where it nicked the skin. Blood trickled down it.

And then the Horror turned and with a flick of her hand, every house in the town was on fire. She turned, lifted up Ariadne, and swing her over the top of her horse like a sack of wheat. As they galloped away, leaving the screams of the townspeople behind them, Ariadne could only think of one thing.

_The prophecy…it came true._


	7. part ii: interlude: on the horse

**Title: **horrors

**Summary: **The fate of the world rests in the hands of a girl who has never been anything but a pawn in the plans of others. Dark, morbid, angsty retelling of Sleeping Beauty.

**Rating: **A hard R, for language, graphic violence, and all sorts of sexual content. Nothing terribly explicit, but some things could be considered mildly limey. Warnings, in the sexual area for: rape, homosexuality, pedophilia, necrophilia, and incest. If these things bother you, get out.

**Other notes: **I know this is _very_ brief, but it's an update. And the next part is citrusy, so I'm very worried about it being ok. It's the first citrus I'll be posting. Ever. I may have to hide under a desk later on (which I have done before). And insert the teen angst.

**interlude: on the horse**

_home is behind  
the world ahead  
and there are many paths to tread  
--howard shore, 'the steward of gondor,' from the lord of the rings: the return of the king_

Noreen's horse moved at an unnaturally fast speed; Noreen herself stayed on with ease despite her precarious sidesaddle position. Ariadne ached and twisted, trying to get comfortable, but one can't just be comfortable slung across the back of a horse.

Noreen finally angrily poked her and muttered, "Stay still, bitch."

Ariadne stopped moving as pain shot through her, stemming in the silver scar embedded in her side. Tears filled her eyes and she struggled to keep them from falling down her cheeks.

What had she become? Why was she a Hatutsul? What had she done to deserve this?

_Saints_, she prayed silently, feeling as though she was screaming inside, _why me? Why me?_

A voice came back, soft and echoing. _Because you will do what it takes._

The Saints. The Saints were talking to her. Then it registered what they had said. Confusion, and then fear, swept through her. _What do you mean?_

Silence. And anger, as though whatever Saint that had spoken to her was so incensed they could not speak. And the anger filled her as well, making her want to fight, though the struggle was futile and everyone knew it.

And then something, something soft and sweet and smiling and kind, touched her gently, brushing against her soul, and she slept fitfully, restlessly, angry and peaceful at the same time.


	8. part ii: rape

**Title:** horrors **Summary:** The fate of the world rests in the hands of a girl who has never been anything but a pawn in the plans of others. Dark, morbid, angsty retelling of Sleeping Beauty. **Rating:** A hard R, for language, graphic violence, and all sorts of sexual content. Nothing terribly explicit, but some things could be considered mildly limey. Warnings, in the sexual area for: rape, homosexuality, pedophilia, necrophilia, and incest. If these things bother you, get out. **Other notes:**Gah! It's an update! I know. And a triple update, nonetheless. From now on, my goal is to update every Sunday, at least until I've posted everything I have so far. Remember, as I've said before, it's all pending. Anything could change at a given moment; however, I will inform you if I change anything in previous chapters. And, finally, **THE CITRUS BEGINS HERE.** It also ends here, for a while. But I will go hide under a conveniently placed rock asyou read the limey-lemon stuff. I think I kept it censored enough for standards, but it does PUSH THE R RATING! Also, it's not pretty, concensual (sp?) citrus, it's rape. R-A-P-E rape. It's not meant to be pretty. It's not supposed to turn you on...let's not go there. So, as a warning, the CITRUS is now. Don't say I didn't warn you.

**rape**

_lovely ladies going for a song_

_got a lot of callers but they never stay for long_

_--alain boublil and claude-michel schönberg, les misérables_

_Wake up, Ariadne_.

She struggled to stay under; for some reason she didn't want to wake. Why did she have to get up?

_Wake up, Ariadne! _

_No._

She awoke finally, feeling pain shoot through her limbs as she was forced to comply.

She was lying on a bed. It was a big canopy bed, made of black ebony, draped with dark red silk curtains and covered with black sheets. Upon closer inspection, the sheets were covered with tiny embroidery the same color as the drapes.

Noreen was on her hands and knees next to her, wearing nothing but her choker and a few bands of cloth that covered her breasts and hips.

Ariadne regained her senses slowly and realized with a fading grogginess and a growing horror that she was naked herself, and tied to the bedposts.

"I thought I could have some fun," Noreen said seductively, purring. Ariadne felt oddly numb, the only thing permeating her shocked emptiness a sharp fear that tasted hard and coppery in her mouth, like blood.

The Horror laughed and slowly licked up the girl's throat, ending with what was probably meant to be a playful nip on her earlobe but instead drew blood. "Don't be so afraid, girl," she said lightly. "I have needs, and they need to be satisfied. And I want you."

Ariadne shuddered and tried to pull away, but the ropes held fast.

"They're woven with silver," Noreen said. "You won't be able to break them. Not that you'll want to."

Ariadne struggled harder, crying out to the Saints.

There was no answer.

She was really starting to doubt they existed. And if they did, they sure as hell didn't care.

Noreen smiled at the girl's struggles and closed the drapes, before Ariadne had a chance to examine her location. Then she said, pressing her lips against the girl's ear, "I'm going to untie your hands and feet. When I do, you will be calm and do as I say, as seductively as possible. Is that clear?"

Ariadne felt herself nod. Tears leaked out of her eyes.

Noreen untied her.

Once again, Ariadne struggled against the spell that subdued her, and once again, she failed.

"Now, Ariadne," Noreen said, "I want you to pleasure yourself. Until you're on the brink of climax. Go."

She had heard of this, but never done anything like it. She felt detached, sick. But she felt her own fingers, slightly rough from her daily work and practicing with her dagger and horseback riding, slide down her bare stomach and into the dark curls at the junction of her thighs, shuddering with the attempts to refuse and the humiliation of it all.

She could not deny that it felt good to pleasure herself in such a way, but the abject horror of masturbating in front of a beast that thought of her as nothing but a tool for her use ruined whatever good might come out of the experience. And still there was heat pooling in her lower belly, and she felt herself building to something, her breathing coming harder, her skin hypersensitive, her eyes rolling back in her head and just before she thought she would fall over the edge she felt fingers, damp with something, pulling away from herself.

In the end she never truly finished. When she felt her fingers pull away, Noreen pounced and Ariadne felt clawed fingers nearly rip through her and arched with pain. The Horror chuckled lightly and Ariadne fought back tears.

Noreen left her bleeding. Her thighs were scraped and clawed, as were her breasts and stomach and her neck burned as though it were on fire.

She shook with silent sobs as Noreen roughly had her way with her and felt herself scream silently with disgust as she obediently licked her own fingers off. But when Noreen ordered her to use her tongue in places Ariadne wouldn't dare touch on someone else, she found an empty pocket she never realized she had, a spot where she was detached from her body even.

She left the empty pocket as Noreen was whispering things to her, things that made Ariadne flush with embarrassment even as her head was between the Horror's legs.

The woman came and Ariadne nearly cried again as Noreen hit her a few times for good measure and hurled her back onto the bed, leaving.

The Ariadne cried herself to sleep again and thought she would never be clean again.


	9. part ii: saints

**Title:** horrors **Summary:** The fate of the world rests in the hands of a girl who has never been anything but a pawn in the plans of others. Dark, morbid, angsty retelling of Sleeping Beauty. **Rating:** A hard R, for language, graphic violence, and all sorts of sexual content. Nothing terribly explicit, but some things could be considered mildly limey. Warnings, in the sexual area for: rape, homosexuality, pedophilia, necrophilia, and incest. If these things bother you, get out. **Other notes:**So. After the...interesting content of the last chapter, we have more interesting content, although in a different format. Behold the most holy and awesome Saints! They do exist!

**saints**

_do i dare  
disturb the universe?  
in a minute there is time  
for decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse  
--t.s. eliot, 'the love song of j. alfred prufrock,' lines (45- 48)_

Deep in the Cosmos, Jiliel was angry. She stalked out of her room, into the star path, and yelled, "Caliel!"

The young man appeared, rubbing his elfin ears pointedly. "What is it, Jiliel?"

"Why weren't you watching her?"

"Who?"

The woman sighed. Second Saint was tough, but when she had people like him working for her...

How did he become a Saint, anyway?

Well, he hadn't _become_ a Saint, he was born into it, but still…

"The Hatutsul," she hissed, her slitted pupils narrowing dangerously to match her glare.

The man looked confused. "I was watching her."

Jiliel was incensed. "Then," she demanded in an angry, low, _deadly_ tone, "Why did _this_ happen to her?"

She snapped her fingers and a ball of pink-colored light appeared in the palm of her hand. Tinted in pink were Noreen and Ariadne. Noreen was cruelly twisting Ariadne's nipples and sighing in pleasure, while the girl herself was gripping the sheet covers in what could only be pain. Tears were sliding down her face.

"Look at that!" Jiliel demanded shrilly. "Just _look_ at it! Why would you let a _Horror_ do such a thing to our representative on earth?"

The man looked ashamed, and afraid. "I _tried_ to stop it, Jiliel; of course I did! But it wouldn't let me! I did! I don't know what's wrong with me; if He's punishing me, if…" he looked away. "I don't know what I did."

"If you looked within yourselves – or at the Books, or the Prophecies – you would know that it is the Path," a voice said.

Jiliel and Caliel turned to face the Head Saint, the most divine creature in all the universe. In the beginning, there had been the Creator, but in her absolute power, she had been corrupted. But there was now the Head Saint, and His fellow Saints, twenty of them in all, who ruled together. Though the Head Saint was the only one omnipotent, and the one with most of the power, all were like gods, and all were, on an almost–subconscious level, connected.

The Head Saint closed His eyes. "It is the Path," He said, "Though as you can see, it is not our Will." He opened his eyes – bright, bright blue, like the color of a summer sky, and, looking directly into the eyes of His fellow Saints, quoted:

_Suffering will befall the first of the New Time  
Her loves will own her, her enemies will kiss her  
No friends will she have, no tears will she shed  
Save for tears of betrayal, tears of loss.  
A Horror will take her, a King buy her, an alchemist own her.  
Only one is true. None are pure.  
Yet she will remain, alone and afraid.  
For five hundred years may she rest,  
And love will find her, lost though she is.  
Her suffering may save us all, her hands may hold the Truth  
But she must use her gifts properly or all will be lost.  
Silence befell the room. Caliel blinked several times. Jiliel conjured a chair and took a seat._

"It's…" she murmured, resting her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands. "It's not… definite."

The Head Saint nodded. "No, it is not."

"Do you know?"

He looked at her again, and she felt as though He was seeing her soul. "Yes. And no. It is there, in my subconscious. I will Seek it when it is time for me to."

Caliel looked up as well. "The Truth? _The_ Truth?"

He nodded. "The Truth."

Another woman stepped out from behind a pillar of stars. "So you mean," Haninael, the Dark Saint, said quietly, "If this girl doesn't use her Hatutsul powers properly, the New Time will fail and the world will end?"

The Head Saint glanced at the woman. "Her _gifts_. Not necessarily her powers. But yes. All Prophecies after this will be null and void. And _all_ will be lost. She is the Salvation. She is the Salvation of Us All."

"I have a question," the Light Saint said—Jekel. "For clarification. Will she succeed in finding the Truth? Will she use her gifts properly?"

The Head Saint shook His head, and Jiliel felt as though she might cry.

"I don't know."


	10. part ii: bondage

**Title:** horrors **Summary:** The fate of the world rests in the hands of a girl who has never been anything but a pawn in the plans of others. Dark, morbid, angsty retelling of Sleeping Beauty. **Rating:** A hard R, for language, graphic violence, and all sorts of sexual content. Nothing terribly explicit, but some things could be considered mildly limey. Warnings, in the sexual area for: rape, homosexuality, pedophilia, necrophilia, and incest. If these things bother you, get out. **Other notes:**Um...language warnings in here. Other than that, a tame chapter. Yep. Final of my triple update. See you Sunday!

**bondage**

_save me, oh God!  
for the waters have come up to my neck  
i sink in deep mire  
where there is no standingi have come to deep waters  
where the floods overflow me  
i am weary with my crying  
my throat is dry  
my eyes fail while i wait for my God  
--psalm 69, the Bible_

When Ariadne woke up, she was still on the bed, bruised, bloody smelling like sex and painfully aware of a soreness in her breasts and between her legs.

She had always heard that sex was pleasurable, but this had been rough and hard and painful. She had been ordered to remain quiet, but that didn't stop Noreen from moaning, or from her own mouth to open and close in voiceless cries of pain.

She pushed open the drapes and found herself in an elaborate, heavily carpeted room. There was a steaming pond in a corner – a bathtub in the bedroom? she marveled at the thought – and a few towels. There was a bookshelf, and, placed on it was her bag. But there were no clothes in sight.

She looked at the bed. Sheets would be fine.

She crawled out of bed both body- and heart sore. The bath-pond was warm, though, and soothed her aching muscles. But the water didn't do anything for her puffy eyes, nor did it remove the feeling of dirtiness in her body.

But she felt a touch, a warmth inside, as though some saintly spirit was touching her, soothing her soul. It gave her a shred of peace that she grabbed and clutched tightly in her heart.

She pulled herself out of the bath and wrapped herself in one of the large towels. Then she stripped the bed, finding clean, untouched sheets underneath. Removing one, she remade the bed. There was probably a reason there were no clothes—Noreen seemed to be a type of person to keep a concubine. She shuddered, and settled herself onto a clean part of the bed. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out a sewing kit.

"Ariadne."

She shoved the kit and the sheet under the covers and jumped under them herself. "What?"

Noreen opened the door, and smiled softly, wickedly. "I see you got comfortable," she said in her low, mocking voice. "How are you, my lovely slut?"

Ariadne was about to play along when she realized something. Noreen had never ordered her to be nice to her, so why should she? She sat up, still securing the towel around her, and snapped, surprised at her own boldness, "I'm perfectly awful, you bitch, and it's all your fault. Get out of my fucking sight."

"Feisty, aren't we?" Noreen mocked, half-cackling. "I always liked a feisty one."

"You would, wouldn't you, you whore?" Ariadne hissed. "Once I get this damned spell off me, I'll kill you with my bare hands."

"I'd like to see you try to get the spell off," Noreen said. "You're not an alchemist. In fact, you probably can't even learn alchemy. No Hatutsul has ever even tried."

"Why would I want to learn alchemy if it's something _you_ do? And where the hell are my clothes?"

Noreen laughed lowly. "You're going to be stubborn about this. You don't need clothes. Until we leave, we're staying here, and you're not leaving this room. I'll be entertained when I need you, and you'll have your library…" She trailed off at Ariadne's stunned look and laughed at her. "I went through your stuff. You'll be fine. But remember, I have my needs."

"When will we leave?"

"Soon," Noreen said distantly, her black eyes softening momentarily, and then going unnaturally hard even for her.

"Why?"

"You'll see. I need you for it. You'll get your clothes back then. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do." Noreen leaned down and crushed her lips against Ariadne's. After a moment of intense kissing, fangs and tongue attacking her mouth, the Horror pulled away, leaving Ariadne with swollen, bruised lips that were bleeding heavily and tear- filled eyes.

Noreen smiled mischievously and wiped away a bit of blood dribbling from the girl's lips, slowly licking it off her claw. She smiled over her shoulder, and walked out the door.

As soon as she was gone, Ariadne curled up and began to sob again, feeling utterly hopeless and totally alone.

ooo

When she finally finished crying, she decided she had to be busy. She had to. She pulled the sheet out, and stood up, letting the towel drop. Carefully, she held the sheet up. It was huge. If she cut a hole in the top and sewed up the side, leaving room for sleeves, and belted it around the waist, it would make a passable dress for daily wear.

She nodded, glad to have a game plan. First she folded it directly in two and cut a hole for her head. Then she flipped it inside out and sewed it up the sides, leaving room for loose sleeves. She cut off a bit from the bottom and hemmed the tear, and then put it on, tying it up.

She glanced at the hourglass in the corner. It was set on a gimbel, so that when it ran out, it tipped over, knocking a small peg forward to show the amount of times it had turned. It was nearly noon, five hourglasses into the day.

The room was windowless (odd, she thought that Noreen had shut the drapes the night before, but she couldn't be sure). She wondered what the weather was like.

A mirror stood in the corner. She turned to face it, looked at herself.

Her face was paler than normal, her eyes dark and surrounded with bruises and redness from too many shed tears. White tear streaks fell down her face, dribbling off her chin and leaving wet splashes on top of her makeshift dress. From what she could see of her collarbones, they were bruised and marred with what looked like bite marks.

She finger- combed her hair, the dark curls falling to her waist, almost untangled. She let the thick brown locks creep over her shoulder and then she let it fall into her face. Hide her face. That was good. No one should see it. Not until the tears dried, at least.

There was a knock on the door. Ariadne grabbed a towel, wrapped herself in it, and turned. "Come in," she called.

An emotionless man, naked to the waist, wearing only thin breeches and a choker with a six-pointed star entered. His nose was large, and had a beak- like quality to it, and when she saw his eyes, she realized that they were a crimson red, to match his knee- length hair, apparently. His arms were sinewy and feathered.

Feathered?

She realized that they were wings as well as arms; and two small talons on each 'hand' held a tray.

"Your lunch, human bitch," he said in a grating tone, set down the tray, and left.

She gritted her teeth at the insult and looked down at the tray. Lukewarm vegetable beef soup, the stale heel of a bread loaf, and a bottle of wine were the only things on it.

She ate everything, suddenly ravenous. Before the moment the Horror with the food had entered, she thought she never would be hungry again. But now it looked like the best thing she'd ever seen. It cleaned out her mouth, her mouth that tasted so dirty, so unclean. Then she drank the bottle of wine, singing old childhood nursery rhymes and murmuring her father's parting words of ten years previous to herself.

She let some of the magic she had been struggling to control out. It shimmered in an irregular cloud, and then surrounded her in its calming glow. She shooed it away from her, took a swig of wine, and turned it into a small, condensed ball. It floated in her hands, begging her to use it.

She took another drink, and let it float for a moment. Then she snapped her fingers, and it exploded, sending a shockwave of light all around the room, leaving it unharmed.

Very nice, Ariadne, the teacher said, separating itself from her once more. You're teaching yourself quite quickly.

"Well," Ariadne slurred, stuttering a little, "Th-th-thank you, A-Aria—Ardni—of, fuck it! T-thank you, me." She laughed at her own joke.

Damn, you're drunk, the teacher, which also seemed to be the sensible part of her mind, the part that thought rationally.

"What…What in all the f-fuckin' hells are you?" Ariadne asked drunkenly.

It confirmed what she thought. I'm your rationality, the teacher said.

"Ah," the girl said. "Jus' a-as I t-though'."

Hell with it, the teacher said. Right now, getting drunk isn't a half bad idea. Just finish off the damn bottle.

Ariadne laughed again, a dopey grin on her face. "As y-you wish," she muttered, and downed the bottle.

Suddenly everything swirled and she was sad, heartbroken. She was all alone. All alone—she had no friends.

She thought about her family. Her father, the king. She'd seen him once, at age five, and then never again. Her mother, who died when she was a Season old. Ariadne didn't know who she was. Her adoptive mother, who had done everything to keep her safe, and then had lost her own life in doing so, even before she was killed. And Master Enan, who was the only person who challenged her thinking, who dared her to learn, to dream.

Ha. Ha ha haha hahaha. She began to laugh, rather hysterically. Well, there was no one to tell her to dream now, was there? She was all alone. The only people who ever cared for her were probably dead, or too busy ruling a country to think about their daughter. Perhaps he had totally forgotten about her… the money had stopped coming about eight years back, after all.

Well, there was no point in dreaming _now_, was there? After all, every hope she would ever have would be crushed.

She dwelled on that for a while, and then she stood, wobbling on her unsteady feet. She stumbled over to the bed and collapsed, her lower body sliding off to meet the ground, allowing unconsciousness to take her.

What was the point of staying awake? Where were the Saints now?


	11. part ii: path

**Title**: horrors

**Rating:** Overall, M, for various nasty things like a plethora of violent acts and loads of sexual content. This chapter earns a high PG-13 for a very brief and mildly explicit mention of rape.

**Author's notes at the bottom**

**path**

_through shadow_

_till the edge of night_  
until the stars are all alight.  
mist and shadow  
cloud and shade  
none shall fade  
none shall fade  
--howard shore, 'the steward of gondor,' from the lord of the rings: the return of the king

"Look at her!" Jiliel demanded heatedly to the Head Saint, her little pink ball showing the drunken, unconscious Hatutsul. "Is she supposed to be that hopeless?"

The bearded, old man looked at her with silence. "I cannot say."

Once more, Jiliel marveled at the Head Saint sitting in his throne of silver stars opposite her. Sometimes when he looked at her he was no older than a boy; other times he seemed ancient. He was always shifting; she could never exactly see what He looked like. Sometimes He was a man, sometimes He looked effeminate. Sometimes His voice was a soprano, sometimes a bass. It was never the same. _He _was never the same. The one thing that was always static in his face were His eyes; they were always bright blue, never shifting, never changing, always old and young and female and male at once. His eyes were the world, she knew. His eyes were the souls of everyone.

But she was still angry; she noticed all this in a moment and then poked a finger into His chest. Never had she been so open about her anger—and to the Head Saint—before. "You mean You can't say, or You _won't _ say?"

He remained impassive, although a glint of respect shone in His soulful eyes. "I can't say, Jiliel. I cannot. If you looked inside of yourself, you would find the answer. And you would accept it, as I have. It is not easy, Jiliel; nothing worth doing or having or loving in this world is. You know that. Free will or ultimate tyranny. Nothing in between." He gave her a sad, caring smile. "You know this."

"All or nothing at all," Jiliel muttered. "Yes, I do know." She closed her eyes for the briefest moment, and when she opened them, the Head Saint was not much older than a toddler.

But more importantly, she knew the answer. The answer to her question.

And she hated it.

"But _why_ was free will chosen?" she cried. "Why not ultimate tyranny?"

The Head Saint shook His head. "Helena had her reasons, I assume. I do not know, nor do I have any inkling of _why_ it might be."

"No," Jiliel whispered. She sand to her knees, her huge, feathered wings dusting the ground, flopping uselessly and hopelessly to her sides. "No. No. Such _pain_, I feel. Such horrible, horrible pain. Of the world. All the time." She looked up, her eyes dry but her face in agony and anguish. "How can I stop it, Saint?" she demanded fiercely but quietly. "How do I end this? _How?_"

He kneeled next to her and took her chin, wiping away the tears that had suddenly appeared. "You can't, Jiliel." He looked at her pink ball. It floated away, looking deceptively harmless and innocent. Almost cute, in fact. Pictures of the world, of people, doing anything from killing to drawing bathwater, flickered endlessly through it.

The world, and all within it, He thought, His now-dark, now-light hair flopping over His shoulders. Jiliel took a sobbing breath. "You can't stop it. You can't end it, Jiliel." He gestured to the ball. "Only _they _can."

Jiliel looked within her heart again. And, to her horror, she discovered that His comment was true.

ooo

A/N: God, I am sooooooo sorry for the long wait. I have an Apple, and apparently FFN didn't like Apples for a very long time. But they fixed it!

For those of you who follow Dark Roses, expect a chapter within the week. As for this little ditty, it's the first of what should be a triple or quadruple update during this night. So stayed tuned for the next couple hours. And, as always, my LiveJournal (penname: nebulia) has snippets and updates on how everything's going fiction-wise at least once a week, if not more.

nebulia out.


	12. part ii: interlude: whatever happens

** horrors**

**interlude: whatever happens when you're drunk**

_and you're not gonna crack_

_no you're never gonna crack_

_--garbage, 'run baby run'_

She didn't remember it; just Noreen's face, for a moment, and someone screaming and pain, lost of pain. And screaming screaming screaming, someone screaming loudly and horribly until their voice cracked and became hoarse whimpers. And then a man—she didn't know him; she'd probably never see him again, something told her, but she didn't know. How could she know when everything hurt, even her mind?

Ponder this, something said. Ponder it.

She tried to, really she did, but she couldn't think, couldn't move, couldn't breathe and she was falling falling falling even though she was lying down, too.

_You're a little slut_, someone said.

_She's a drunken slut_, someone else agreed. _You hear that? You're just a drunken, little slut, nothing but a filthy human bitch. _

She wanted to protest but the screams were too loud. She tried to yell, "Shut _up_!" but she couldn't because her mouth was already moving and then she realized she was the one screaming.

And she screamed and she screamed and she screamed and she hated herself and then the pain consumed her and then it was all black.

And she woke up in the morning with a hell of a headache and Noreen was tossing clothes at her and saying, "Come on, Hatutsul bitch. We have work to do."

Ponder this, something said. Ponder it.

ooo

A/N: Next part of the update!

nebulia out.


	13. part ii: horrors

The last of the triple update. Heavy sexual content, violence. Be warned.

**horrors**

_did she treat you badly?_

_was she very bad?_

_did she make you mad?_

_are you very sad?_

_--jacques offenbach, from an English translation of 'neighbor's chorus,' from his opera la jolie parfemeuse_

If there was one thing Ariadne liked about Noreen, she realized after three days on the road, it was that the Horror drank tea.

Every time they stopped, she was handed a steaming cup and told to drink. It soothed her and warmed her and it tasted bitter but good and the heated drink was beginning to grow on her, too.

But even then, Noreen was detestable, fearsome. The Horror would hand her the tea and, once they were done drinking it, kiss her fiercely and have what she called a 'quickie' against a tree away from—or sometimes facing—the road.

Ariadne discovered that the tearstains on her face never seemed to fade, let alone dry. She walked with her dark hair in front of her face, her hands pressed together and buried in her green gown to hide and prevent the power from coming through.

They had done nothing, had met nothing odd. They passed through towns and got meals for free from fearful, wide-eyes villagers who gave Ariadne hungry, desirous looks through their terror, but they stayed the night in the woods off the roads. After the first night, she knew why—her sobs and Noreen's moans would wake the entire village, let alone the hotel.

The Horror's lust was insatiable. For some reason, she could go and go without stopping. And when they stopped in the village, Ariadne could see desire in others' eyes. And it wasn't for Noreen—no, fear shone in their eyes when they looked at her. But when they saw Ariadne, she could _feel_ the want emanating from them—especially the ones high in the town hierarchy: the mayor, the judge, even their _wives_. The more powerful a town member, the more they wanted her, she discovered, and the more the tried to get her. Noreen typically stopped them, sliding an arm around Ariadne's thin shoulders to cup her breast or nibbling hard on her, leaving bloody, bruised marks on her neck and ears.

Two, the mayor _and _his wife, cornered her when Noreen had left her alone for a moment.

The mayor backed her up against an alley wall and the wife pinned her hands. The mayor was a middle-aged man with a slight potbelly, much taller than her and with broad shoulders. His wife was tall, narrow, and also middle-aged, and held remnants of beauty, her hair dyed and curled, her face made up with cosmetics, a corset holding her ample bust.

"You're a pretty thing," the woman said, her breath gusting in the shell of her ear. "Wouldn't you like to come home with me, little girl?" she asked slowly, her voice a mere purr. She bit down on Ariadne's earlobe suddenly, and the girl gasped.

The mayor, meanwhile, had unbuttoned his pants, and Ariadne blushed at the sight. He had pushed up her skirts around her waist and dragged his hands up her thighs, finally grasping her his hard enough to bruise. The stones of the back of the wall scraped the backs of her thighs and buttocks.

His wife continued to pin Ariadne to the wall with one hand, but her other slid down to grasp her husband. A few quick strokes with her long fingers and he was panting. She, too, looked lustful, her arm elbow deep in her skirt, moving hard and fast, and her mouth, which had been violently nibbling on Ariadne's ear, murmured, "You're mine next, little girl."

Noreen did not save her.

ooo

She clenched her teeth as a gust of wind swept through the road and blew her hair around. She grabbed a chunk of it, and then another, and began to braid it to keep her mind off of the thoughts that disturbed her, and even, to a degree, frightened her.

"Ah," Noreen said.

Ariadne glanced at the woman. They were walking, but the Horror's unnatural horse followed after them. Noreen said they wouldn't ride him unless they needed to be somewhere fast. The Horror's black hair lifted up and swirled in the wind, but she made no move to let it fall down.

"What?" Ariadne asked.

"Now's where you come in, Hatutsul," Noreen said. "I need your power. Do you sense it?"

She had grown so used to the evil feeling Noreen gave off. It left her feeling unsettled and disturbed whenever the presence vanished, which was rarely at the house or wherever she had been and never happened now. But she now felt, underneath Noreen's horribly evil, corroding feeling, another feeling, evil too, but not quite as corroding as the Horror next to her.

It was approaching, she realized. From the east. Small, fast. Running on two legs. And… what was that? The gait was odd… he was leaping, she realized. Run step, run step, leap step, run step, run step, leap step…

And then a small creature, shorter than her, with slitted, snakelike eyes and a tall funny purple hat appeared. His skin was a rich chocolaty brown, his face childish and young. When he spoke, his voice was that of a boy's but cultured and smooth.

"Where is the Hatutsul? I want her."

Noreen laughed. "Unfortunately, Lotiin, she's _mine_." She gestured to the girl. "Hatutsul."

Ariadne looked up, knowing what would some next and dreading it. "Yes, Mistress."

"Kill him."

She planted her feet and shook her head, feeling the pain shoot through her. Her back, the spot where the silver star was, burnt with a heat she'd never felt before. The silver dug into her skin. Her hands began to glow with an unearthly silver light.

Noreen's voice was tight. "_Kill _him, Hatutsul."

Lotiin tried to run suddenly when he realized what the girl was about to do, but one of Ariadne's hands shot out and a silver bolt hit him in the back. "No running," something inside her said, and it came out her mouth.

He was just a boy. A Horror, but just a boy.

And there, the teacher said, is where you're wrong. You know what a Horror is, deep inside you. We must search for it. But he is not just a boy.

_But he looks like one! _She cried, trying to convince herself.

And Noreen looks like a normal, if untrustworthy, woman.

"You're right," she said lowly. Her eyes narrowed, and the glowing left hand she held out gained strength, the light nearly blinding Noreen.

But Ariadne hardly noticed and the boy was too afraid.

Another burst of power shot out of her hand and down the silvery thread. It engulfed the boy in its silver- black light and for the briefest moment he screamed.

For the briefest moment, because then Ariadne, her eyes hard, intensified the blast and he collapsed in a pile of dust, only in Horror necklace in one piece. She walked over to it and destroyed it as well.

Suddenly, something—a memory, a tear, something shot through her. It wasn't hers, it hurt, oh Saints it hurt and she didn't know what to do. Screaming, she grabbed her head and for a moment, she was killing something, ripping the warm, fresh, sweet flesh out a of a live, screaming being and shuddering at the wonders of the delicious taste and the flesh that melted on her tongue and the warmth of the blood on her fingers. She sighed and buried her face in his, gobbling, and when she lifted her head again, she saw the dark, clawed, bloodied fingers resting in the bloodied mass of still- writhing flesh below her.

And then she knew what this was. This was the best moment of that Horror's life time, the best thing he'd ever felt before.

She screamed again, back in her world, and held her head. Oh, Saints, it hurt so bad! It was like it was being ripped into thousands of pieces and she screamed again and realized the horror that that was the little boy she had just killed reveling in the wonders of eating a live creature and he was loving it. And he was happy. And she was screaming and shuddering because of it.

A memory that was not hers was lodged in her brain. A single memory of a boy she had killed. A horrific memory of a Horror. Not hers. A moment of life. Not _her_ moment of life. Someone else's. Someone's she had stolen.

_Oh, Saints_…

She curled into a fetal position, sobbing. Her fingernails bit into her palms, making little crescent- moons filled with blood, and she felt it begin to pool in the cold dirt below her.

Noreen kicked her hard in the side with what Ariadne quickly realized was a steel- toed boot. "Come on, bitch," the Horror said cruelly, half- laughing. "Get used to it. This is your new life."

Ariadne tried to get up, tried to get used to it, but apparently mental commandments could not be used in the same sense physical ones could when it came to Noreen's alchemic subduing spell.

Noreen kicked her again. Ariadne felt something crack and winced. "Get up, bitch," the Horror said tightly. "Time to keep moving. And," she added, face twisting mockingly, "If you're good, I'll let you get and hourglass's worth of sleep tonight."

Ariadne got up, dried the tears off of her face, and looked at the pile of dust before her. "Get used to it, Ariadne," she whispered. "Get used to it. Adjust to these horrors, both kinds. It's your life now. It will be until you die. There is nothing left for you. Not really."

"Exactly," Noreen said. "That's how you should think of it." She grabbed the Hatutsul and swung her against a tree, her fangs brushing the girl's ear. "You're mine now, Hatutsul. You belong to me. I am your owner. You are my property. _Get used to it_."

She nodded. Noreen kissed her hard, teeth biting into lips and gums, tongue attempting to gag her. "That's the spirit," she said, laughing wickedly. "That's it."

Ariadne hid her face in her hair again, trying to discreetly dab off the blood. Don't cry, she urged herself. Whatever you do, don't cry.

She didn't. To her surprise, she didn't.

ooo

And so it went. As the days went by, Ariadne steeled herself against the killing of every Horror that came near them. She began to understand her power, to attack them, to dodge, to fight. Noreen began to engage her in hand-to-hand combat, fights and battles that usually ended up in some form of whatever sex Noreen was in the mood for, and left Ariadne bloody and gritting her teeth against the pain and tears. She hated this life, but it began to become normalcy, and she hated that even more.

She was always bruised now, and it hardly hurt anymore when Noreen kicked her. But the pain never seemed to stop when Noreen ravaged her with her clawed hands and fangs and left Ariadne bleeding and fingers in fists. Nor did the ache of broken ribs go away, and, deep within her, she always felt the pain of killing, the ache of brutally placing a foot on some Horror's chest and carefully turning the body into dust, feeling that horrible release of evil and that moment of time, always a moment of time, seeping into her head.

It never hurt quite as badly as it had the first time, but she supposed she was used to it by now. Days passed, weeks passed, until, a Season after her birthday and, consequently, the day she had been caught by Noreen and had destroyed the little town with the Fat Cow in it, and she was living a life she never thought even existed.

It was late at night and winter was coming, and Ariadne was wrapped in her cloak. Noreen was asleep, oddly enough, and Ariadne was the one awake. She held her bag in her fingers, her bag that was now empty save for the library.

Lourdes. That was its name. She wondered where it was from.

Lourdes.

She looked down at the book and pronounced the name clearly, albeit softly. "Lourdes. Do you have any books on the meaning and usage of your name?"

She opened it, and a few titles appeared. Five.

_Names and Their Origins_

_The Priests: people who served the Saints_

_Priest Lourdes_

_The Country of Thrace_

_Lourdes: the Palace of the Thracians and the Priest-King of Thrace_

She looked at the titles, eyes widening. _No wonder he named it Lourdes…_

ooo

She had spent that night reading, and many more following it. Lourdes was, in truth, a woman, and, she discovered with awe, a Hatutsul. She had lived over nine hundred and fifty years ago, and she had been the founder of the country of Thrace. She was also a Priest, a person devoted to serving the Saints and the Saints alone. They were known for their strong love of the Saints, and most had died for them.

Lourdes had made and unified the peoples of Thrace, and had created a stable monarchy by which they had survived with for nearly one thousand years. She had disguised herself as a man when she became King, and had developed feminine-equality laws and consequently revealed herself. The palace was named after her in her honor: Lourdes. And consequently, the capital as well: Lourdes- town.

After that, she read about the Hatutsul, though there was only one slim volume in Master Enan's collection. What it said about Hatutsul had very little importance to Ariadne: it simply documented what history was known about them, mentioned basic symptoms of a Hatutsul, and named and told the stories of famous Hatutsuls. And then Horrors.

But very little was said about them. Other than their occasional mention in a book of alchemy or in a battle, Horrors were largely ignored. Except for one tiny pamphlet, even smaller than the book on Hatutsuls. There, it detailed the creation of Horrors and the fall of the creator of the universe. Ariadne read it with wide eyes, her dark hair shining in the moonlight. The little volume had an author with one name: Mashanji.

With confusion, she looked at it. Who was this Mashanji? And how did _they_ know what no one, even Horrors, it appeared, knew?

But something in her told her that what the book said was true. And then she knew. Inside, something elaborated, told the story in much greater detail, as if she'd had the knowledge inside her all along but the tiny book had triggered a key, unlocking the information buried deep within her. How did she know this?

It was three nights after the discovery of the volumes about Horrors and Hatutsuls when Noreen woke up.

"You need your sleep, Hatutsul," she said in a sultry voice.

"I have a desire to learn," Ariadne said firmly, not really realizing who it was she was talking to; she was engrossed in the book of fairy tales that she had always borrowed from Master Enan after the boys would beat her up.

Noreen stood, and let the blanket she was wrapped in slide off her body. "Well, you ewither sleep or play, _bitch_," she said, running her fingers across the back of Ariadne's neck, breaking tiny holes in the skin and drawing blood. She winced but did little else. The next thing she knew, Noreen was calmly licking the blood off of the girl's neck. "You taste so…_delicious_," she murmured seductively, licking her lips close enough to Ariadne's skin for the girl to feel her tongue. "Why aren't you attracted to me?"

Ariadne's eyes widened and she pulled away in horror, spinning around so that she faced the woman. "It should be obvious," she stated defiantly, eyes angry and mouth set, her face in a ferocious glare that would've scared anyone other than this woman. But her body, terrified, trying to run and forbidden to, called her bluff. "You _hurt_ me. Every night it hurts more, and I always wake up with blood between my legs and sore and you're a _bitch!_"

Noreen kicked Ariadne, who struggled to put the library back in her bag and throw it all aside. Noreen straddled her waist and grabbed her wrists, but Ariadne struggled and twisted until the Horror hissed, "Don't fight me, bitch."

Instantly pain was coursing through her body and she was still, although inside she was screaming.

_Don't cry, don't cry don't cry don't cry_, she chided herself. _Just lay still and it'll all be over soon._

Perhaps it was. Perhaps it wasn't. But she didn't notice. She closed her eyes and pretended she was sleeping in her bed the in cottage near the village and clenched her fingers in pain.

Of course, a Horror had to come upon them at that moment.

Instantly Noreen had moved and was in a feral crouching position, her eyes wild and her star pendant glowing.

"Kill it," she said to Ariadne.

The Horror was a strange beast, the first totally non- human one she'd ever seen. It had the face of a bear but the mane of a lion and it stood on all fours. Its hands and naked torso were feathered like a bird and its arms and legs were scaled like a snake's. It had a thick penis and testicles that were lightly feathered as well, a fully erect. He was humanoid enough for his nakedness to bother Ariadne, but neither Noreen or the beast seemed disturbed by it.

Ariadne rolled to her feet as well, her hands instantly beginning to glow again. The Horror spoke, its low, growling voice sounding almost like two or three, its eyes hot and fierce, slitted bright green with yellow irises, and hungry with desire. "You. Hatutsul. I want."

"She's mine," Noreen demanded. "Stay away."

"Noreen," the Horror said. "I should know." It smirked.

How could a beast smirk?

It stared at her and said, "Too bad. I want. She mine now."

"_Kill it!"_ Noreen yelled.

She did.

It dissolved into dust and instantly she was living the memory of raping a small, sobbing girl, claws digging into her hips, her shoulders, her prepubescent breasts. Then her body was tossed and thrown like a rag doll and she was ripped to pieces and devoured. In the memory, the Horror was laughing and laughing, except for when he groaned with pleasure.

She came back to reality and vomited.

Noreen looked at the naked girl facing away from her, crouching with her ands on the ground as her hair streamed down her back and over her shoulders, getting in the bile that came out of her mouth. Noreen watched her with a strange fascination, feeling a wave of desire and musky arousal rush through her. She wanted this girl more than anything in the world. And the girl, the bitch, _her_ bitch, was the most perfect thing to possess, to own.

She laughed.


End file.
